Kiara Pride-Lander: Book 7 Part 1 - Despair
by Kimberly Joan Amethyst
Summary: This is the first part of the final book in the KPL series. DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING, apart from my own characters. PLEASE read the foreword before moving on to the main story as it is important, and all negative reviews will be ignored, and Chapter 1 begins on chapter 2, so don't be confused if it comes up different. So please read and enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

**Kiara Pride-Lander**

 **and the Deathly Hand of Holiness**

 **By K.J. Amethyst**

 **Book 1: Despair**

 **Poems and Forewords**

 **She Is Gone** by David Alexander Elder

 _You can shed tears that she is gone,_

 _Or you can smile because she has lived._

 _You can close your eyes and pray that she will come back,_

 _Or you can open your eyes and see that she has left._

 _Your heart can be empty because you can't see her,_

 _Or you can be full of the love that you shared._

 _You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,_

 _Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday._

 _You can remember her and only that she is gone,_

 _Or you can cherish her memory and let it live on._

 _You can cry and close your mind,_

 _Be empty and turn your back._

 _Or you can do what Mum would have wanted:_

 _Smile, Open your Eyes, Love and Go On._

 **Home No More Home to Me** by Robert Louis Stevenson

 _Home no more to me, whither must I wander?_

 _Hunger my driver, I go where I must._

 _God blows the winter wind over hill and heather;_

 _Thick drives the rain, and my roof is the dust._

 _Loved of wise men was the shade of my roof-tree._

 _The true word of welcome was spoken in the door -_

 _Dear days of old, with the faces in the firelight,_

 _Kind folks of old, you come again no more._

 _Home was home then, my dear, full of kindly faces,_

 _Home was home then, my dear, happy for the child,_

 _Fire and the windows bright glittered on the moorland;_

 _Song, tuneful song, built a palace in the wild._

 _Now, when day dawns on the brow of the moorland,_

 _Lone stands the house, and the chimney is stone-cold._

 _Lone let it stand, now the friends are all departed,_

 _The kind hearts, the true hearts, that loved the place of old._

 _Spring shall come, come again, calling up the moor-fowl,_

 _Spring shall bring the sun and rain, bring the bees and flowers;_

 _Red shall the heather bloom over hill and valet,_

 _Soft flow the stream through the even-flowing hours;_

 _Fair the day shine as it shone on my childhood -_

 _Fair shine the day on the house with open door;_

 _Birds come and cry there and twitter in the chimney -_

 _But I go for ever and come again no more._

0000

 _Notes on the Seventh Book by Kimberly Joan Amethyst._

The seventh book in the _Kiara Pride-Lander series_ is split into three books: Book 1 - _Despair_ , Book 2 - _War_ , and Book 3 - _Hope_. I give the books these titles because I feel that my readers need to understand what is going on through both Kiara's and Sian's heads as they start the last stretch of their journey. The book as a whole still focuses on Kiara as she goes about destroying the Horcruxes Zira created, but I think it is important that my readers also get an insight into another main character in the series - Sian.

You see, in the sixth _Kiara Pride-Lander_ book, at the end of it, Sian lost her mother, Susan Crighton, Headmistress of Dragon Mort Magical Academy. The death of this woman has devastating consequences on both Kiara and Sian, but more on Sian, and that is why in the seventh book, the first book - or part - is called _Despair_ because it focuses slightly more on Sian and her suffering and how she is coping and whether she will be back to the old Sian we have grown to know and love again.

Book 2 - _War_ , is obviously focused on the battle that takes place and is more focused on Kiara, because once you've got through the first book, it turns its attentions back on Kiara for the most part, because we are coming to the end of the journey and therefore we have to stick with her because she is our leading lady and we have to see whether she will be able to accomplish the very difficult task of destroying Lady Zira. We will also be able to find out if Kiara and her parents will become a proper family again like they were once before.

Book 3 - _Hope_ is what happens after the battle, and will explore what happens between the end of the war and Dragon Mort reopening before heading on to nineteen years later, and that is all I will say about that. So if, like me, you are annoyed that J.K. Rowling never wrote a bit more of what happened after the battle, then I hope that I more than make up for it - well, I'll try to, anyway.

At the beginning of each book - or part - I will have one or two poems in place to explain a little of what the book is about, and I think the two that I have chosen make sense for this part. There could be a few more that I have chosen, but I don't want to bore you with poetry, so that is why I did not do that. Furthermore, I do not own them but I like them, so that's why I chose them.

I know that the title does sound a lot like a title to a fairy tale, and in a way it is, but I think that it will make sense to many of you as to why I chose this title as it goes on. At least I hope it does, anyway.

I should like to point out that in this book, I am going to remind my readers of things that they have loved from the last six books, so that they can remember what they have laughed and cried about along with me. So, to my faithful readers out there, I than you with my whole heart for staying with Kiara and I on this rather wild journey that we have taken together. And remember, no matter what happens, accept love! DO NOT SHUN IT, like Lady Zira and Lord Voldemort did.

Live and live well, for now and forever.

Thank you

Kimberly Joan Amethyst.

XOXO


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

 **The Scarlet Lady Ascending**

 **KIARA**

Hello again, dear readers. So, here we are again. The final chapter of my story. Now, I know many of you are confused about this book being split, but that's only because there is so much going on in this book that it has to be split, and I hope you will understand this more as we go on. Now, normally I would tell you what is going to happen at this point, but I don't want to spoil anything for you. So, I will see you in chapter three, and in the meantime, you will see what's happening with Lady Zira, who is back, and as evil as ever ...

0000

The two women appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other's chests; then, recognising each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.

"News?" asked the taller of the two.

"The best," replied Tiana Triphorm.

The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The women's long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they marched.

"Thought I'd be late," said Yap, her blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. "It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope she will be satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will be good?"

Triphorm nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the women's way. Neither of them broke step: in silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through as though the dark metal were smoke.

The yew hedges muffled the sound of the women's footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: Yap drew her wand again, pointing it over her companion's head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure white peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge.

"She always did herself well, Narissa. _Peacocks_ ..." Yap thrust her wand back under her cloak with a snort.

A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond-paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge, a fountain was playing. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Triphorm and Yap sped towards the front door, which swung inwards at their approach, though nobody had visibly opened it.

The hallway was large, dimly lit and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the walls followed Triphorm and Yap as they strode past. The two women halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Triphorm turned the bronze handle.

The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room's usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. Triphorm and Yap lingered for a moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light they were drawn upwards to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated underneath this singular sight was looking at it except for a pale young woman sitting almost directly below it. She seemed unable to prevent herself from glancing upwards every minute or so.

"Yap. Triphorm," said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. "You are very nearly late."

The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out more than her silhouette. As they drew nearer, however, her face shone through the gloom, death-white, straggly, uneven hair, snake-like, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. She was so pale that she seemed to emit a pearly glow.

"Tiana, here," said Zira, indicating the seat on her immediate right. "Yap - beside Dali."

The two women took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Triphorm and it was to her that Zira spoke first.

"So?"

"My Lady, the Order of the Centaur intends to remove Kiara Pride-Lander from her current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall."

The interest around the table sharpened palpably: some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Triphorm and Zira.

"Saturday ... at nightfall," repeated Zira. Her red eyes fastened upon Triphorm's icy-blue ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Triphorm, however, looked calmly back into Zira's face and, after a moment or two, Zira's lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

"Good. Very good. And this information comes - "

"From the source we discussed," said Triphorm.

"My Lady."

Yap had leaned forward to look down the long table at Zira and Triphorm. All faces turned to her.

"My Lady, I have heard differently."

Yap waited, but Zira did not speak, so she went on, "Dalca, the Auror, let slip that Pride-Lander will not be moved until the twenty-ninth, the night before the girl turns seventeen."

Triphorm was smiling.

"My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dalca. It would not be the first time, she is known to be susceptible."

"I assure you, my Lady, Dalca seemed quite certain," said Triphorm.

"I assure _you_ , Yap, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Kiara Pride-Lander. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry."

"The Order's got one thing right, then, eh?" said a squat woman sitting a short distance from Yap; she gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table.

Zira did not laugh. Her gaze had wandered upwards, to the body revolving slowly overhead, and she seemed to be lost in thought.

"My Lady," Yap went on, "Dalca believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the girl - "

Zira held up a large, white hand and Yap subsided at once, watching resentfully as Zira turned back to Triphorm.

"Where are they going to hide the girl next?"

"At the home of one of the Order," said Triphorm. "The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and the Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance taking her once she is there, my Lady, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest."

"Well, Yap?" Zira called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in her red eyes. " _Will_ the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?"

Once again, all heads turned. Yap squared her shoulders.

"My Lady, I have good news on that score. I have - with difficulty, and great effort - succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Prudence Thicko."

Many of those sitting around Yap looked impressed; her neighbour, Dali, a woman with a long, twisted face, clapped her on the back.

"It is a start," said Zira. "But Thicko is only one woman. Scrimwazz must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister's life will set me back a long way."

"Yes - my Lady, that is true - but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicko has regular contact not only with the Minister herself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy, now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scirmwazz down."

"As long as our friend Thicko is not discovered before she has converted the rest," said Zira. "At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the girl at her destination, then it must be done while she travels."

"We are at an advantage there, my Lady," said Yap, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. "We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Pride-Lander Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately."

"She will not do either," said Triphorm. "The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place."

"All the better," said Zira. "She will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far."

Again, Zira looked up at the slowly revolving body as she went on, "I shall attend to the girl in person. There have been too many mistakes where Kiara Pride-Lander is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Pride-Lander and her family lives is due more to my errors, than to her triumphs."

The company round the table watched Zira apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid tat they might be blamed for Kiara Pride-Lander's continued existence. Zira, however, seemed to be speaking more to herself than to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above her.

"I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Kiara Pride-Lander (and her parents, if I get the chance to), and I shall be."

All these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downwards, startled, for the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.

"Wormy," said Zira, with no change in her quiet, thoughtful tone, and without removing her eyes from the revolving body above, "have I not spoken to you about keeping our prisoner quiet?"

"Yes m-my Lady," gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it had appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a curious gleam of silver. His neighbour, a woman, who was just as small as he was, with a hard face and square spectacles, glared at his back as he ran.

"As I was saying," continued Zira, looking again at the tense faces of her followers, "I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Pride-Lander."

The faces around her displayed nothing but shock; she might have announced that she wanted to borrow one of their arms.

"No volunteers?" said Zira. "Let's see ... Narissa, I see no reason for you to have a wand any more."

Narissa Malty looked up. Her skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight and her eyes were sunken and shadowed. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.

"My Lady?"

"Your wand, Narissa. I require your wand."

"I ..."

Malty glanced sideways at her husband. He was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as she was, his short, blond hair lying flat and limp, but beneath the table his long fingers closed briefly on her wrist. At his touch, Malty put her hand into her robes, withdrew a wand and passed it along to Zira, who held it up in front of her red eyes, examining it closely.

"What is it?"

"Elm, my Lady," whispered Malty.

"And the core?"

"Dragon - dragon heartstring."

"Good," said Zira. She drew out her own wand and compared the lengths.

Narissa Malty made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed she expected to receive Zira's wand in exchange for her own. The gesture was not missed by Zira, whose eyes widened maliciously.

"Give you my wand, Narissa? _My_ wand?"

Some of the throng sniggered.

"I have given you your liberty, Narissa, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late ... that is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Narissa?"

"Nothing - nothing, my Lady!"

"Such _lies_ , Narissa ..."

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table.

The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Zira's chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Zira's shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man's thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Zira stroked the creature absently with long, thin fingers, still looking at Narissa Malty.

"Why do the Maltys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"

"Of course, my Lady," said Narissa Malty. Her hand shook as she wiped sweat from her upper lip. "We did desire it - we do."

To Malty's left, her husband made an odd, stiff nod, his eyes averted from Zira and the snake. To her right, her daughter Dani, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Zira and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

"My Lady," said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, "it is an honour to have you here, in our family's home. There can be no higher pleasure."

She sat beside her brother, as unlike him in looks, with her dark red hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanour; where Latchna sat rigid and impassive, Katalina leaned towards Zira, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.

"No higher pleasure," repeated Zira, her head tilted a little to one side as she considered Katalina. "That means a great deal, Katalina, from you."

Her face flooded with colour; her eyes welled with tears of delight.

"My Lady knows I speak nothing but the truth!"

"No higher pleasure ... even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"

She stared at her, her lips parted, evidently confused.

"I don't know what you mean, my Lady."

"I'm talking about your niece, Katalina. And yours, Latchna and Narissa. She has just married the werewolf, Timon Meers. You must be so proud."

There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Love Destroyers did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Katalina and the Maltys' humiliation. Katalina's face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an angry, blotchy red.

"She is no niece of ours, my Lady," she cried over the outpouring of mirth. "We - Latchna and I - have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries."

"What say you, Danielle?" asked Zira, and though her voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. "Will you babysit the cubs?"

The hilarity mounted; Dani Malty looked in terror at her mother, who was staring down into her own lap, then caught her father's eye. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, then resumed his own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

"Enough," said Zira, stroking the angry snake. "Enough."

And the laughter died at once.

"Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time," she said, as Katalina gazed at her, breathless and imploring. "You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest."

"Yes, my Lady," whispered Katalina, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. "At the first chance!"

"You shall have it," said Zira. "And in your family, so in the world ... we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain ..."

Zira raised Narissa Malty's wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

"Do you recognise our guest, Tiana?" asked Zira.

Triphorm raised her eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Love Destroyers were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As he revolved to face the firelight, the man said, in a cracked and terrified voice, "Tiana! Help me!"

"Ah, yes," said Triphorm, as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

"And you, Danielle?" asked Zira, stroking the snake's snout with her wand-free hand. Dani nodded her head jerkily. Now that the man had woken, she seemed unable to look at him any more.

"But of course, you have taken his classes for three years," said Zira. "For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Christian Boggles who, until recently, taught at Dragon Mort Magical Academy."

There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched man with pointed teeth cackled.

"Yes ... Professor Boggles taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles ... how they are not so different from us ..."

One of the Love Destroyers spat on the floor. Christian Boggles revolved to face Triphorm again.

"Tiana ... please ... please ..."

"Silence," said Zira, with another twitch of Malty's wand, and Christian fell silent as if gagged. "Not content with corrupting and polluting with the minds of wizarding children, last week Professor Boggles wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the _Daily Squabbler_. Wizards, he says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Boggles, a most desirable circumstance ... he would have us all mate with Muggles ... or, no doubt, werewolves ..."

Nobody laughed this time: there was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Zira's voice. For the third time, Christian Boggles revolved to face Triphorm. Beads of sweat were pouring from his forehead into his hair. Triphorm looked back at him, quite impassive, as he turned slowly away from her again.

 _"Avada Kedavra."_

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Christian fell, with a resounding crash, on to the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Love Destroyers leapt back in their chairs. Dani fell out of hers on to the floor.

"Dinner, Namzo," said Zira softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from her shoulders on to the polished wood.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: So, here's a long Sian chapter for you. Now, I should point out that I know that the address for the care home is not the address for the care home, but I couldn't think of anywhere else to write it. I have no idea if there is a Greenwood House out there, and if there is I am sorry, but this care home is of my own invention, and I only know of how the system kind of works from watching _The Story of Tracy Beaker_ and _The Dumping Ground_ , so please do not blame me. Anyway, enjoy this chapter, and next chapter we will be back with Kiara.**

 **Chapter 2**

 **The Youngest Dawson Brother**

 **SIAN**

Nothing.

That was all Sian felt these days, which were dark, cold and empty. She was a wreck, lifeless. A ship adrift at sea with no one to help her. She was a girl drowning in misery, and no matter what she did or where she went, the misery would follow Sian everywhere, sucking all the joy out of everything. She could see this whenever she looked at her siblings and her father whenever she would enter a room; they would be talking animatedly or laughing at something, but as soon as Sian entered the babble of talk and laughter would be extinguished. She could see her siblings and her father looking worriedly at her, wanting her to join them, and yet nervous as to how she would react, but Sian would always turn and walk on. She didn't want to walk away, but she felt like she had to. Sian felt like she was always out of her body in some ways: there, but not there - like a phantom, haunting the house and sucking the happiness out of every room she was in. And all this was because her dear mother, Susan Louise Jane Winifred Crighton, was dead.

Sian always saw the looks her siblings and her father gave her: pity mingled with sadness, and she knew why, for not only was she shutting them out, but she wasn't coping with her mother's death as well as her siblings and father were, and Sian envied them for that. She wished that she could be like them and laugh and talk free and easily, but she couldn't. She couldn't find joy and happiness in anything any more, not even her family, who Sian knew would help her if she reached out, but she didn't, because Sian didn't want her siblings to see her as weak, so she selfishly grieved alone, always in her room, and though Sian knew that she was surrounded by people who loved her, she felt alone, more alone than she had ever felt in her whole life.

Sian was a mess, this she was aware of. She cared little of her appearance in those days, but she always kept her hair tied back, and her eyes held a permanent sadness about them, which was not helped by the nightmares she had each night, where her mother would leave and never come back. Sian would always wake crying and screaming into her pillow, and would remain crying until sleep took her again. Sian could always tell her siblings had heard her crying at night (the only time she allowed herself to cry), and why deny it? Yes, she came down for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but apart from that, she remained in her room. Whenever Sian came down for meals, though, she heard her siblings muttering about a light that had died in Sian's eyes, and Sian knew that that light had died the moment her mother did.

True, she kept most people out, but she did allow a few in: her aunt Sara, her father (occasionally), her mother's friend, Ellie Dodge, Kopa, Simba and, most importantly, Kiara. Sian wrote to Kiara a lot that summer, and through their letters, Sian thought that the friendship that she and Kiara had had only grown stronger, because she finally understood where Kiara was coming from about someone close to you dying. Talking to all these people did help Sian a little, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

And so, we join Sian now in her bedroom in a sunny day in July (Sian was sure the sun tormented her, for she felt like she was constantly surrounded by a dark cloud), a couple of days after her seventeenth birthday. The day for Sian had been a mixed one. She had been happy to have her family around her; she had smiled a lot that day and gladly welcomed every hug and every kiss that was bestowed on her. She got a new watch, as was the custom for every witch and wizard who came of-age: silver with purple stars. But the day was also filled with sadness, and every time Sian looked at her father, she knew that he knew what was missing from an otherwise perfect day: her mother, who had promised, years ago, when Sian was a girl, that she would be there to celebrate Sian's seventeenth. How much had changed since then ...

Anyways, Sian's room was a large, beautiful room, painted aqua-marine blue, her favourite colour. The walls had pictures of wildlife, and one was a Muggle canvas of a stream running through a wood. On the window sill was the blue orchid Sarabi had bought for her two years ago. Depite all the time Sian spent in this room, it was surprisingly clean. The only change in it was that two of the pictures on Sian's desk had been turned towards the bed on which she sat, looking gloomily at them, as she absentmindedly stroked a large black cat with a squashed face: the first, a picture of her mother on her own, smiling gently at her grief-stricken daughter; the second was of Sian and her mother, which had been taken when Sian was four, sat on her mother's knee, and both mother and daughter smiled happily at each other; you could feel the love between them by just looking at the picture.

Sian would gaze at these pictures for hours on end when she wasn't speaking to anyone, writing to Kiara or - well, she would look and think, not just of all the precious times they had together, but of what her mother would say to her. Sian knew that her mother would not want her to act like this, that she would want her daughter to be happy and live on, but Sian didn't know how. Every day was hard for Sian, for without her mother, what was her life?

Sian was then brought out of her thoughts by a sharp knock on the door. Recognising the knock and knowing that she would not mind her father's presence, Sian croaked, "Come in."

Sian saw her father looking at her sadly with pity. She turned her face away from him then, for she hated seeing that look. She knew her family cared about her, but it still annoyed her. Sian then heard the door close and soft footsteps cross the room. Then she felt the bed dip next to her, but Sian kept her eyes on the photographs, not wanting to look at her father and see the pity still there. Father and daughter were quiet for several minutes. Then, still silent, Sian felt her father put his arm around her and drew her to him. Sian allowed him to do so willingly, needing to feel her father's warmth more than she thought she did.

"It'll be all right, sweetheart," Sian heard her father say, before he kissed her on the crown of her head. "You'll be all right."

Sian doubted if she would ever feel all right again, but she didn't say anything, because she didn't want to push her father away more than she was already doing.

They remained like that for several minutes, until Sian felt her father pull back slightly. Looking up at him, Sian could see that he was nervous about what he had come to tell her.

"I just came to give you this," her father said, and that's when Sian noticed the letter her father was holding, which was addressed to her in familiar thin, slanting writing, and Sian gasped as she took the letter from her father with shaking hands, immediately knowing who the letter was from.

"I'll leave you to it," Sian vaguely heard her father say; she was also vaguely aware that she missed her father's warmth as soon as he was gone from her, but she was too consumed with curiosity to see what her mother had said in the letter. As soon as the door had closed, Sian tore open the envelope eagerly and pulled out the letter.

Sian felt a slight twinge of pain at seeing her mother's handwriting again, but she was so curious as to what her mother wrote that the pain she felt was quickly pushed aside. Sian read through the letter quickly, and as she did, she was shocked at what her mother was asking her to do.

 _My dearest Sian,_

 _I am sorry for not saying this to you when I was alive, but it is important to me that you know this now._

 _I know my death will be hard on you, but it is not as hard as what I have to ask you to do, which is why I have asked your father to deliver this to you sometime after my death. My darling, what I want you to do is this: bring your brother Max home._

 _Sian, I know that what he did to you was wrong, but he has changed so much since you were little. He is growing into a wonderful, kind, smart young man who I want you to get to know._

 _Sian, I want my family back together under one roof. Max is being transferred to Dragon Mort in September, this is just one step closer to bringing us back together. All I need you to do, Sian, is write to the care home he's in whose address is on the card in this envelope. Arrange a date to see him and persuade him to come home in any way you can. Max will come home, I know he will. And he is eager to see you again._

 _Promise me that you will do this, Sian, as a last request from your dear mother?_

 _I love you,_ magi _, and that will never stop._

 _All my love,_

 _Ma_

The letter trembled in Sian's fingertips. Go get Max? The only brother in her family to cause her pain? Yes, she had heard from both her mother and Merida, the only two in her family to ever visit Max, how much he had changed, but Sian chose not to believe it. Even now, eight years on, the marks of what Max did to her were still painful to think of and see, and Sian wondered if she would meet that same boy again, and what she would do if she did. Terror went through Sian at the very thought: she didn't want to hurt her brother, but if the worst came to the worst ...

Yes, Sian was scared of her brother, but that was only because she was scared of getting hurt by him again, and that made Sian reluctant to not want to see him. But, reading through the letter again, Sian could read her mother's eagerness to get this done in every word, and she had promised her mother that she would do whatever her mother asked of her. So she looked back in the envelope and picked up the card that she had ignored and read the contact details.

 _Greenwood House_

 _12 Prospect Park_

 _Longford Road_

 _Cannock_

 _WS11 O2G_

 _Head Care Worker: Miss Karen Gillford_

Sian went over to her desk, pulled a piece of parchment to her and picked up her quill and began to write. Once she was done, she read through it and was quite pleased with how it turned out. So she got up and went to ask Chris if she could borrow Catonia to send this letter.

 _Dear Miss Gillford,_

 _We have not spoken before now as it has always been my mother, Susan Louise Jane Winifred Crighton who has spoken to you a lot in the past, but that is no longer possible as I am sure Max has told you. I am her eldest child, Sian Dawson, and I am writing to you today to ask you if I could come and visit Max some time next week. The reason for this is that my mother wrote a letter to me before she died, which I have just gotten today, saying that it is her last request that she wants her family to be whole again, meaning that she believes that it is time for him to come home. I know this may come as a slight shock to you, as it did me, but my mother believes that it is for the best, and if she believes that, then so do I._

 _I love my mother very much and want to do this last thing for her to make her happy. I am worried about seeing my brother again, but I am going to push those fears aside and do this for my mother. Please take these words into account and I hope to hear from you soon with an appointment to see my brother._

 _Hope to hear from you soon._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Sian Dawson_

0000

A week after Sian had sent that letter to Karen, Sian was in a car, driving down a sunlit rural road in Liverpool, which was driven by her father's driver, Joey. Houses were lined on either side of the street that were flying past the window, along with the cars lined up on the edge of the pavement or else were parked in the driveways. Every few seconds the odd car would come zooming down the road, and as their car passed a bus stop and turned a corner, Sian and Joey's destination came into view: a three-storey, red brick house that looked like it cold house up to at least fifteen people. Joey stopped the car outside the gate and, as she stared at the building, Sian felt her nerves take her. She looked down at the bag she was holding, which contained 'gifts' for her brother. She didn't want to use bribery to get her brother to come home, but her mother had said to persuade him to come home by any means possible, and thinking of her mother calmed Sian's nerves somewhat, but didn't calm her down completely, for she was afraid of what she would find within.

For a few minutes Sian stared at the house, her eyes wide with fear, not saying a word. Then Joey said, "It'll be all right, Miss D."

Sian jumped at the sound of his voice and turned to face him, calming slightly at the sound of his voice and his eyes that were looking at her kindly. She smiled slightly and said, "I hope it will."

"I _know_ it will," said Joey earnestly. Then he said, "So, how long d'you think you'll be in there, then?"

Sian thought for a moment, then answered, "About an hour, maybe longer. Promise you'll wait for me?"

"'Course I will, Miss," Joey answered at once. "I promised your dad I would look after you, and I intend to."

"Thanks, Joey. Our family is lucky to have you," said Sian, kissing his cheek. And Joey's words gave Sian the courage to get out of the car and push open the gate, which creaked open, and before she went any further Sian made sure she opened the gate wide enough to allow Joey to drive through.

The gravel crackled beneath Sian's feet as she walked up the driveway to the red door, which to Sian felt like an eternity to get to. Once she was stood in front of the door, Sian's nerves took over her again, but then she reminded herself who she was there for, and that gave Sian the courage to ring the doorbell.

Sian waited a couple of minutes before the door opened to reveal a woman in her late twenties, around middle height, with bright doe eyes which were the exact shade of healthy grass. Her short auburn hair was tied back and drawn away from her pudgy face. Her nose was long and crooked and she had full lips and a friendly, cheerful smile.

"Hiya, you must be Sian," said the woman in a strong Scouse accent.

"I am," said Sian, feeling slightly relaxed by the woman's friendly demeanour. "Pleased to meet you."

"And you," said the woman, grasping Sian's hand in a firm but gentle handshake. "I'm Karen Gillford. Welcome to Greenwood House. Come on in, hon."

"Thank you," said Sian, stepping into the house as Karen stepped aside.

Looking around, Sian saw a neat and polished entryway. The hall was long and staircases stood at both ends leading downstairs. On a couch by the staircase that led upstairs to the childrens' rooms, a few cuddly toys were displayed neatly The walls were painted white and green, and the rugs that covered the floor were patterned with bright blues, yellows, pinks and oranges. A few of the drawings the children had done were put up on the walls, and on the wall directly opposite her, Sian could see the pictures of all the children who lived there, each of them smiling widely.

The front door closed smartly behind her. Turning round, Sian saw Karen walking towards her, still wearing that friendly smile of hers. "Right through here, hon," she said, leading Sian into a room with green and white painted walls that had a desk in the corner, with two sofas sitting opposite each other with a coffee table in between them in the centre of the room. A tall window at the end of the room behind the desk provided a view of the large garden, through which Sian could see the children playing a game of some kind.

"Sit yourself down, hon," said Karen, and Sian sat down on the couch where she could see clearly out of the window.

"Can I get you anythin'?" Karen asked. "Tea? Coffee? Juice?"

"Orange juice, please. Still, not sparkling."

"Sure thing, hon. I'll be right back." And Karen was gone, closing the door with a small snap behind her.

Sian then looked out of the window at the children running around, laughing and having fun with a tall, thin man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with short spiky blond hair, a long nose, pale blue eyes and was laughing and playing with the other kids. As she was wondering if any of them was her brother, Sian let a small smile cross her face at seeing how happy the kids were. One of them, a little girl with curly red hair in a pink dress, spotted Sian and waved at her. Sian let a small giggle escape her and waved back, until the girl ran back to the others. Sian looked away from the window as Karen came back in with a tray.

"Here y'are, hon," said Karen, setting down the tray.

"Thank you," said Sian, picking up her glass of orange juice as Karen sat down opposite her, picking up a cup of tea. For a minute there was silence as the two women drank, and all that could be heard were the kids laughing in the garden.

"So," said Karen at last, putting her cup back down on the tray and surveying Sian carefully, "I was very intrigued by the letter you sent me, Sian, for in all the years Max has been here, not once have you come to see him. It's always been your mum who's come."

"I know that, Karen," said Sian, sighing deeply, "and the reason for that has to do with my insecurities and fears about Max, which is to say that I'm worried that he'll be the same boy I last saw eight years ago. You can understand that, can't you?"

"I can," said Karen, nodding for Sian to continue.

"Everything that I put to you in my letter was true; it was indeed my mother's last wish for her family to be made whole again. I assume that Max has told you about our mother's passing?"

"Yes, he did," said Karen, nodding her head solemnly, "and I'm sorry to hear about your mum, Sian, for she was a good woman who always had a kind word to say to me whenever she saw me, and she did not deserve to die the way she did."

Sian felt a lump rise in her throat at Karen's words, and she found it rather hard to swallow. "Thank you," Sian said with some difficulty. "That's very kind of you to say."

Karen nodded again and went on, "Now, I understand your concerns about Max's behaviour, hon, but your brother has changed so much since you last saw him. He's a completely different person now, you won't recognise him. He's a good boy now, y'know, with a good heart and a mind to match. He's one of the best kids I've got here, Sian, honest to God, and he wouldn't dare hurt a hair on anyone's head."

Sian could see Karen speaking earnestly, willing Sian to believe her, but it wasn't going to be that easy for Sian. The day Max left was the day that Sian's heart had hardened against him, and she swore to herself that she would have no more to do with him. And yet, here she was, asking about Max, and all because she had to fulfil the final promise to her mother, like the doting, faithful child she had always been, and that made Sian say, "Talking about my brother is all well and good, but I did come here to see him. May I be allowed to see him now?"

Karen blinked rapidly a few times and said, "Of course you can, hon. You wait here. I'll go and get him for you." When she reached the door, Karen turned back and said, "Do you want him to bring anything down with him?"

"Just his grades, that will be plenty." Karen nodded and left again, closing the door behind her.

Left alone again, Sian's nerves took over and she had to pace to try and relieve them. Sian had now heard it from three people that her brother had changed: her mother, Merida and now Karen. Could it be true? Sian desperately wanted it to be true, and yet the memory of the last time Sian had seen her brother made her shake her head and pace on angrily, thinking that people can't change ...

But then Sian wondered when she had become such a hypocrite, for Sian herself had never though she could change for many years, until she met Kiara Pride-Lander, who was like a breath of fresh air to her, and who had helped Sian lighten up a bit ... and then there was Kopa, who had somehow seen past Sian's icy shell and had fallen in love with her, as she had with him ... so if there was hope for her to change in this crazy, messed-up world, then didn't that mean it was possible that Max had changed, too? And if that was the case, didn't that mean that her brother deserved a second chance?

Sian was the brought out of her thoughts - and her pacing - by the door opening again. Sian stood stock still, trying not to let her nerves overwhelm her. Karen came back into the room, followed by a boy Sian had not seen in eight years, only this was no little boy who stood before her.

Who she saw was a tall young man, wearing trainers, jeans and a plain black T-shirt. His hair was thick and dark brown, and Max had styled it so that he had a perm. His face was smattered with a light dusting of freckles and he had a long nose and blue-grey eyes, the same shade as their father's, eyes which, last time Sian saw him, had been burning with rage towards her, but were now raised in an expression of shock.

"Sian?" Max said disbelievingly in a soft, deep voice.

"Hi, Max," said Sian, smiling slightly and shrugging her shoulders.

An awkward silence passed between them; neither Sian nor Max made any effort to approach the other. Then Karen said, "I'll just leave you two to it, then. If you need me, I'll be in the office, all right?"

Sian nodded, and Karen left the room once more. As soon as the door had closed, Max started moving slowly towards Sian; when he reached the table, he put down the box Sian hadn't noticed he had been holding on the table, then proceeded with caution to Sian; both brother and sister could practically feel the tension radiating off the other. Once in front of Sian, Max stopped, then, slowly, brother and sister hugged rather awkwardly for a few moments, their bodies not really touching. When they separated, Sian and Max sat down opposite each other: Sian with her legs crossed, and Max sat forwards with his hands clasped together, looking down at his knees. Both seemed more relaxed now that the awkward greetings were over and done with.

An awkward silence passed between them again. Knowing she'd have to break the silence soon, Sian asked, "So ... how have you been, Max?"

"Pretty good, can't complain," said Max, shrugging. Then, looking up at Sian he asked her, "And you?"

Sian sighed deeply and said, "Coping, you know?"

Max nodded in understanding.

Wanting to avoid the elephant in the room for as long as possible, Sian asked Max, "So, how have you been since you came here?"

It was Max's turn to sigh deeply before answering, "When I first got here, I was a troublemaker. I was upset, I was angry, and I took that out on the other kids which, I know, wasn't fair, and I'm not proud of it, either. Many people tried to sit me down and knock some sense into me over the years, but I didn't want to know ... until Harry Potter spoke to me."

Sian blinked, surprised. "He did?"

Max smirked. "Yeah, he did. It was a couple of months after I had first started at Hogwarts, and I'm guessing Professor McGonagall must have seen and heard of some of the stuff I'd been doing to other students, and I think that's why she asked Harry to talk to me. He lectures some Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons sometimes, you know? Anyway, he talked to me one day and, to sum up what he said, he simply told me that it's OK to be angry sometimes, but it's not OK to take that anger out on others who have done nothing to you, and that even though it sounds hard, I'd have to learn to let my anger go. At first I brushed his words aside, but they would always come back to me whenever I wanted to hit somebody. This happened for about a week after Harry spoke to me, and I realised that he was right. So I knuckled down, studied hard, took up a position as Beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and became a better person. My grades have improved too, look - "

Max took the folded piece of parchment that lay on top of the objects in the box and handed it to Sian, who took it from him with a trembling hand. Unfolding the parchment, Sian saw that Max had a lot of good grades. Some of which were not as good as others, but Sian could see that her brother was doing well in most of his classes.

"Not bad, overall," said Sian, smiling slightly. "Nice one, Max."

"Thanks," said Max, taking the parchment back. Then, smiling sheepishly, he added, "But you know, Sian, my grades aren't the only things that have changed."

"What d'you mean, Max?"

"Well ... I've got myself a girl."

"Shut up!" Sian said loudly, and for a moment, she forgot all about the horrible stuff Max had done to her as her surprise wiped everything else temporarily from her mind.

Max laughed at Sian's reaction. "I know, I couldn't believe it either," he said. "Her name's Andrea and she was one of the first people to approach and befriend me after I cleaned up my act. She's kind, thoughtful, smart, funny and she happens to be the only person who can calm me down, apart from Merida. I've got a picture of her in here," Max added, tapping the side of the box. "Want to see?"

Sian nodded eagerly. Max pulled out a moving photograph and handed it to his sister. Sian saw two happy smiling people in the photograph: her brother, she could easily distinguish, had his arm around a girl with long black hair, olive skin, deep brown almond-shaped eyes and a small nose. Looking at this picture and seeing how happy the two of them were, Sian could finally acknowledge what people had been telling her: Max really had changed.

"Well, good on you for getting yourself a girl, little bro," said Sian brightly, handing the photo back to Max, who put it back in the box.

"Thanks, Sian," said Max. Then, looking mischievously at her, he added, "But I'm not the only one in this room who's in a relationship, am I?"

Sian blushed and said, "I take it that Ma told you about Kopa, then?"

Max nodded. "Yeah, she did. She also told me that you know Kiara Pride-Lander. What's that been like?"

"A wild ride, as you'd expect." Brother and sister then shared a laugh. "I have to admit, Max, that you being here has done you worlds of good. I'm proud of the transformation that you have gone through. You really have changed."

"Thanks, S.D.," said Max, smiling slightly. Then his smile faded and he looked rather uncomfortable. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, "Listen, Sian ..."

Knowing what was coming, Sian closed her eyes painfully and said, "Yes, Max?"

Max hesitated, then said, "I feel like I owe you an ... an apology ..."

Opening her eyes, Sian saw Max looking guiltily at her. _And so he should_ , said a small voice in her head. Wanting a explanation, Sian just said bluntly, "That's a good start, keep going."

Max sighed deeply before he went on, "Look, Sian ... I was a jerk, I was an idiot, I was not in my right mind at the time - "

"I'll say," Sian muttered angrily. Max lowered his head in shame and continued speaking to his hands.

"Sian, I am truly, _truly_ sorry for everything I said and did to you when we were kids. I was just so jealous of you being the favourite, having all these powers, getting all the attention from our parents, that something inside me just snapped - "

"So because of all that, you thought it was all right to attack me with a red-hot poker?" Sian interrupted angrily. She couldn't help it; after eight years of anger and resentment bottled up towards her brother, it was coming out at last. "What did I ever do to you, huh? I never told on you to our parents about all the things you were doing and saying to me, both in front and behind my back - "

Max raised his head then, shock written all over his face.

"You knew about - ?"

"Of course I knew, Max! This is me you're talking to here, remember?" Sian shook her head and continued, "Not once did I tell our parents about you, Max, because I believed that somewhere inside you was my sweet little brother - my _true_ brother. I did warn our parents about who you were becoming, though, but they brushed it off. By the time they believed me, it was too late. My heart had hardened against you from that day, Max, that's why I never came to visit you in eight years - well that, and the fact that I was afraid that if I did show up here with Ma that you would try to hurt me again!"

Sian was breathing heavily by the time she had finished. Max looked steadily at her. "Wow. I did know you were that angry with me."

"Yeah ... neither did I," said Sian slowly, as her breathing returned to normal. Silence passed between brother and sister again, each consumed in their own thoughts.

At last, Max said, "Sian, I know I said and did some terrible things to you when we were kids, but I've changed now, and I am truly sorry for what I did to you, so - so can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Sian saw Max looking at her with such guilt, such remorse, that she knew he was telling the truth, but she wasn't quite ready to forgive him yet, so she said, calmly but firmly, "Max, I can see how much you have changed - and yes this change is for the better - but I'm still adjusting to the new you. I'm not saying that I haven't forgiven you yet, but it's a start, and a good one at that. Just give me time, OK?"

Max nodded, and Sian smiled, grateful that he understood. "I understand," he said. "Just the fact that you're here now and are willing to give me a second chance is far more than I deserve from you, Sian." Then Max's smile faded, and a curious look came over him. "More to the point, why are you here, Sian?"

It was then that Sian remembered why she was there, and so she told Max in all honesty, "Well Max, I'm actually here because of Ma."

This time, it was Max's turn to blink in surprise. Sian hastened to explain, "You see, before she died, Ma wrote a letter explaining how she wanted her family to be brought back together after she died, which she gave to Dad, who passed it on to me about a week ago." Sian then hesitated, realising she had been selfish, and asked, "How have you been coping since out mother's death anyway, Max?"

Max sighed heavily and said, "It's been tough, I'm not going to lie. Andrea was a great source of comfort to me. She wouldn't say much, but she was the only one who'd comfort me and see my tears. I kept to myself though, mostly. Still do, in fact. That's why I wasn't out there with them." He nodded to the window before turning back to Sian. "It must be hard for you too, Sian?"

"More than I can say," said Sian sadly, feeling sadness engulf her heart again.

"Ma always spoke fondly of you whenever I would see her," Max said kindly. "She was so proud of you."

"I know," said Sian. "She spoke fondly and proudly of you, too." Brother and sister shared a sad smile before Sian continued, "So, you do know that you're being transferred to Dragon Mort this year, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," said Max. "Professor McGonagall told me before I came back here for summer. Asked if I would like to. I agreed, and the paperwork's been taken care of. But what does this have to do with Ma, S.D.?" Max added, looking curiously at his sister again.

"Well, in the letter Ma wrote me, she asked me to come here to ask you whether you would like to come home for good."

Max's eyes shone with delighted surprise. "Really?"

Sian nodded. "Really," she said. "I understand if you don't want to, of course, but seeing as this is our mother's last request - "

"Are you mad? Of course I want to come home! It's what I've been dreaming of for eight years now!" Max exclaimed, his eyes alight with happiness.

Sian was taken aback for a few seconds before Max's words had sunk in: he was coming home! Beaming, Sian said, "OK ... well, I'll go and tell Karen the good news, then."

Sian stood up and made for the door, but Max blocked her path. Before Sian could say anything, Max hugged her fiercely. Sian hesitated for a couple of seconds before she hugged him back just as fiercely. When they let go of each other, Max's eyes landed on the bag by the side of the sofa that Sian had been sitting on.

"What's that?"

Sian tuned to what her brother was looking at before chortling slightly and turning back to her brother. "Oh, those are for you," she explained. "Ma said in the letter to persuade you to come home, so - "

"So these were meant as a bribe?" said Max, outraged.

"Only as a last resort!" said Sian defensively. "I didn't want to bribe you into coming home, Max, really, but Ma ... well, you know what she's like. Anyway, I asked Merida what you liked, so I got you a really cool book on dragons, and I also picked you up a few things from Tanya and Geri's joke shop. If you still think of these things as a bribe, then you can give them to the kids if you want to. I don't care. They're yours now, after all. However, if you do decide to keep them, then you must promise me that you will _never_ use any of these pranks on me. Understood?"

"I wouldn't dream of it!" Max said quickly, holding up his hands. Sian nodded, and Max stood aside to let Sian pass. She then made her way to the door, and just before she could touch the handle, she heard Max say, "Sian?"

Sian turned around. Max, who was bent over the bag, looked up at Sian and said, "Thanks."

Sian just smiled and left the room. As the door closed behind her, Sian heard Max yell joyously, "I'm finally getting out of here! Woo-hoo!" Still smiling, Sian walked away to talk to Karen about plans to bring her brother home.

0000

It did not take long for the paperwork to be sorted out, for later that very same day, Max's social worker and Mr Dawson were called to Greenwood House to sign the necessary documents permitting Max to leave.

Three days later, Sian, who had passed her Apparition test easily along with Chris (Chrissie had failed by half an eyebrow), had Apparated directly outside Greenwood House. As she walked up the driveway, Sian could hear the faint sounds of music and laughter from inside, which meant that a leaving party was being held for Max. Sian smiled as she rang the doorbell.

Once again, it was Karen who answered.

"Hiya," she greeted Sian warmly, standing back to let Sian pass. "I'll go and let Max know you're here, so he can say his goodbyes and get his things together, all right?"

Sian nodded, and Karen turned and walked a little among the corridor to the room where the music was coming from. Sian heard the music stop, then a few seconds later she heard the disappointed groans of many children, which meant that Karen had informed them that it was time for Max to go. The door opened again and the tall blond man Sian had seen playing with the children in the back garden came out and went up the stairs to get Max's things from his room. Sian could hear low murmurs as Max and the children said goodbye to each other; some of them were even crying. Sian's heart went out to them, as the tall blond man came back downstairs carrying Max's belongings and deposited them at Sian's feet. Sian shot him a small smile of gratitude before he went back to the party room.

Sian didn't have to wait long for her brother to come; about a minute after the blond man had disappeared back into the party room, Max came out, his smile widening at the sight of her. Brother and sister then embraced each other warmly, both happy to see each other.

When they let go of each other, Sian asked Max, "Ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be!" Max responded eagerly.

"Wait just a second, hon," said a voice behind them. Turning, Sian and Max saw Karen, who hugged Max like a mother hugging her son and told him, "You keep in touch now, yeah? Be good, and don't be afraid to come back and visit us whenever you want to, hon, all right?"

"Don't worry, Karen, I will," said Max. Karen then gave him a final hug and let him go.

Max then turned back to Sian and together they wordlessly picked up his bags and left in silence. Outside the gate, Max stopped and looked back wistfully, and Sian knew why: this had been his home for eight years, and he deserved to say goodbye to the place, so she let him have a minute. Once the minute was up, Sian tapped Max on the shoulder and beckoned for him to follow her.

As they walked, Sian kept glancing around anxiously, looking out for anyone wanting to cause them trouble. Sian had her wand on her, she would have been a fool to leave home without it, but she was now regretting her decision not to have Joey drive her again. True, Sian could handle herself, but some of the Love Destroyers were clever and quick, and Sian couldn't bear the thought of losing her brother so soon after getting him back, but fortunately no trouble met them. In fact, no one met them: the street was quiet and still, which suited Sian perfectly.

At the end of the road Sian stopped and so did Max. Sian held out her left arm. Max looked at it then up at his sister, confused. "Side-along Apparition," Sian explained quickly. Max nodded, readjusted the hold on his bags and grabbed Sian's arm tightly, and together they turned into the compressing darkness, and a second later they had arrived outside a pair of wrought iron gates in the middle of a wood, beyond which all was murky and unclear.

Sian then glanced at Max, who was clinging on to her arm for dear life; he was pale and was taking in great lungfuls of air.

"Are you all right?" Sian asked him. "The sensation can be quite uncomfortable at first, I'll admit."

"Yeah," Max said shakily. "Yeah, I'll be OK."

Sian nodded, and stroked the gates with her fingers. The gates then untangled themselves and disappeared like black snakes into the grounds. Once the gates had disappeared, the murkiness dissolved and a beautiful white manor house appeared at the top of a long driveway.

Sian heard a gasp from beside her. She looked at Max, who was awestruck by the sight.

"It's still as beautiful as I remembered it," Max whispered.

Sian smirked and said, "Come on." Max then let go of Sian's arm and the two of them progressed up the drive together; behind them the gates creaked back into place.

Sian and Max walked in silence to the house. Sian kept looking at Max: his face was a mask of pure joy, and it seemed like he was doing all he could not to run inside and shout for joy that he was back. Sian couldn't help chuckling at him.

Max looked up at Sian.

"What?"

"Don't worry, Max," she said. "You'll be seeing everyone soon enough, and then you can jump and shout for joy that you are back."

They reached the stairs to the house and climbed them and entered. Sian took off her shoes and put on her slippers before she and Max entered the main house.

"Hey, guys," Sian shouted, after she had shut the door to the main entrance, "guess who's back?"

The sound of running footsteps greeted them and, looking up, Sian and Max saw Merida's happy face at the top of the stairs.

"Max, you're back!" she exclaimed happily, running down the stairs as fast as she could and directly into the welcoming arms of her brother.

"Hey, Merry," Max whispered, holding his favourite sister tightly.

Sian smiled as she watched the rest of her family rush downstairs to welcome Max home. As she watched her siblings reunite with Max, she thought, _I did it, Ma. I did it for you. I hope you're happy ..._

But what Sian and her siblings didn't know was that outside the window, a phoenix, with an emerald-green glow around it, was watching her family reunite, with tears of joy spilling down her feathery cheeks. Knowing that her final request had been fulfilled, the phoenix stretched her wings and, in a flash of light and a flap of wings, she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: For those of you who will be wondering who Imamu Ibori is in this chapter, don't worry, there is a reason for this as his name will pop up quite a few times in this book, so keep your eyes peeled.**

 **Chapter 3**

 **In Memorium**

 **KIARA**

Yes, it's me again, back in my grandmothers' cottage, bleeding.

Yes, I was bleeding. Clutching my right hand in my left and swearing under my breath, I shouldered open my bedroom door and, keeping my bleeding hand elevated, I tramped across to the bathroom to run my finger under the tap.

It was stupid, pointless, irritating beyond belief, that I still had four days left of being unable to perform magic ... but I had to admit to myself that this jagged cut in my finger would have defeated me. I had never learned how to repair wounds and now I came to think of it - particularly in light of my immediate plans - this seemed a serious flaw in my magical education. Making a mental note to ask Sian how it was done, I bandaged up my finger as best I could, before I returned to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

I had spent the morning completely emptying my school trunk for the first time since I had packed it six years ago. At the start of the intervening school years, I had merely skimmed off the topmost three quarters of the contents and replaced or updated them, leaving a layer of general debris at the bottom - old quills, desiccated beetle eyes, socks that no longer fitted. Minutes previously I had plunged my hand into this mulch, experienced a stabbing pain in the fourth finger of my right hand and withdrawn it to see a lot of blood.

I now proceeded a little more cautiously. Kneeling down beside the trunk again, I groped around in the bottom and, after retrieving an old badge that flickered feebly between _Support GEORGIA DIGGS_ and _PRIDE-LANDER STINKS_ , a cracked and worn-out Sneakoscope and a silver locket inside which a note signed "O.B.W." had been hidden, I finally discovered the sharp edge that had done the damage. I recognised it at once. It was a two-inch-long fragment of the enchanted mirror that my mum's best friend, Pumbaa Warts, had given me. I laid it aside and felt cautiously around the trunk for the rest, but nothing remained of Pumbaa's last gift except powdered glass, which clung to the deepest layer of debris like glittering grit.

I sat up and examined the jagged piece on which I had cut myself, seeing nothing but my own dark amber eye reflected back at me. Then I placed the fragment on top of that morning's _Daily Squabbler_ , which lay unread on the bed, and attempted to stem the sudden upsurge of bitter memories, the stabs of regret and of longing the discovery of the broken mirror had occasioned, by attacking the rest of the rubbish in the trunk.

It took another hour to empty it completely, throw away the useless items and sort the remainder in piles according to whether or not I would need them from now on. My school and Quidditch robes, cauldron, parchment, quills and most of my textbooks were piled in a corner, to be left behind. I did not bother thinking about what my grandmothers would do with them, for neither they nor I would be - but no, I wouldn't let myself go there just yet. My Muggle clothing, Invisibility Cloak, potion-making kit, certain books, my wash and makeup bags, hairbrushes, the photograph album Mina had given me, the framed picture of my parents on their wedding day, a stack of letters that were in a box that Grandmother Sarabi had given me a few days previously and my wand had been repacked into a large old rucksack. In a front pocket were the Scallywag's Map and the locket signed "O.B.W." inside it. The locket was accorded this place of honour not because it was valuable - in all usual senses it was worthless - but because of what it had cost to attain it.

This left a sizeable stack of newspapers sitting on my desk beside my snowy owl, Harold: one for each of the days I had spent at my grandmothers' cottage that summer.

I got up off the floor, stretched and moved across to my desk. Harold made no movement as I began to flick through the newspapers, throwing them on to the rubbish pile one by one; the owl was asleep, or else faking; he was angry with me about the limited amount of time he was allowed out of his cage at the moment.

As I neared the bottom of the pile of newspapers, I slowed down, searching for one particular edition which I knew had arrived shortly after I had returned to my grandmothers' cottage for the summer; I remembered that there had been a small mention on the front about the resignation of Christian Boggles, the Muggle Studies teacher at Dragon Mort. At last I found it. Turning to page ten, I sank into my desk chair and reread the article I had been looking for.

 _SUSAN CRIGHTON REMEMBERED by Ellie Dodge_

 _I met Susan Crighton at the age of eleven, on our first day at Dragon Mort. Our mutual attraction was undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt ourselves to be outsiders. I had contracted dragon pox shortly before arriving at school, and while I was no longer contagious, my pockmarked visage and greenish hue did not encourage many to approach me. For her part, Susan had arrived at Dragon Mort under the burden of unwanted notoriety. Scarcely a year previously, her mother, Lillian, had been convicted of a savage and well-publicised attack upon three young Muggles._

 _Susan never attempted to deny that her mother (who was to die in Azkaban) had committed this crime; on the contrary, when I plucked up the courage to ask her, she assured me that she knew her mother to be guilty. Beyond that, Crighton refused to speak of the sad business, though many attempted to make her do so. Some, indeed, were disposed to praise her mother's action and assumed that Susan, too, was a Muggle-hater. They could not have been more mistaken: as anybody who knew Susan would attest, she never revealed the remotest anti-Muggle tendency. Indeed, her determined support for Muggle rights gained her many enemies in subsequent years._

 _In a matter of months, however, Susan's own fame had begun to eclipse that of her mother. By the end of her first year, she would never again be known as the daughter of a Muggle-hater, but as nothing more or less than the most brilliant student ever seen at the school. Those of us who were privileged to be her friends benefitted from her example, not to mention her help and encouragement, with which she was always generous. She confessed to me later in life that she knew even then that her greatest pleasure lay in teaching._

 _She not only won every prize of note that the school offered, she was soon in regular correspondence with the most notable magical names of the day, including Nicola Fleming, the celebrated alchemist, Imami Ibori, the noted South African historian, and Adalbert Waffling, the magical theoretician. Several of her papers found their way into learned publications such as_ Transfiguration Today _,_ Challenges in Charming _and_ The Practical Potioneer _. Crighton's future career seemed likely to be meteoric, and the only question that remained was when she would become Minister for Magic. Though it was often predicted that she was on the point of taking the job, however, she never had Ministerial ambitions._

 _Three years after we had started at Dragon Mort Susan's sister, Sara, arrived at school. They were not alike; Sara was never bookish and, unlike Susan, preferred to settle arguments by duelling rather than through reasoned discussion. However, it is quite wrong to suggest, as some have, that the sisters were not friends. They rubbed along as two such different girls could do. In fairness to Sara, it must be admitted that living in Susan's shadow could not have been an altogether comfortable experience. Being continually outshone was an occupational hazard of being her friend and cannot have been any more pleasurable as a sister._

 _When Susan and I left Dragon Mort, we intended to take the then traditional tour of the world together, visiting and observing foreign wizards, before pursuing our separate careers. However, tragedy intervened. On the very eve of our trip, Susan's father, Johnathon, died, leaving Susan the head, and sole breadwinner, of the family. I postponed my departure long enough to pay my respects at Johnathon's funeral, then left for what was now to be a solitary journey. With a younger sister and brother to care for, and a little gold left to them, there could no longer be any question of Susan accompanying me._

 _That was the period of our lives when we had least contact. I wrote to Susan, describing, perhaps insensitively, the wonders of my journey from narrow escapes from Chimareas in Greece to the experiments of the Egyptian alchemists. Her letters told me little of her day-to-day life, which I guessed to be frustratingly dull for such a brilliant witch, although she would say every so often that a rich aunt of hers would go and see her once a week, to provide funds when necessary, but more often than not to watch over her younger brother and sister, so that Susan could have some leisure time, for which Susan was extremely grateful for. Immersed in my own experiences, it was with horror that I heard, towards the end of my year's travels, that yet another tragedy had struck the Crightons: the death of her brother, Sean._

 _Though Sean had been in poor health for a long time, the blow, coming so soon after the loss of their father, had a profound effect on both of his sisters. All those closest to Susan - and I count myself one of that lucky number - agree that Sean's death and Susan's feeling of personal responsibility for it (though, of course, she was guiltless) left their mark upon her forever more._

 _I returned to the Crighton residence to find a young woman who had experienced a much older person's suffering. Susan was more reserved than before, and much less light-hearted. To add to her misery, the loss of Sean had led, not to a renewed closeness between Susan and Sara, but to an estrangement. (In time this would lift - in later years they re-established, if not a close relationship, then certainly a cordial one.) However, she rarely spoke of her parents or of Sean from then on, and her friends learned not to mention them._

 _Other quills will describe the triumph of the following years. Crighton's immeasurable contributions in the store of wizarding knowledge, including her informative papers on the twelve uses of dragon's blood, will benefit generations to come, as will the wisdom she displayed in her judgements when she had a place in the Wizengamot. They say, still, that no wizarding duel - apart from Grindelwald and Dumbledore's - ever matched that between Crighton and Femwazz in 1955. Those who witnessed it have written on the terror and the awe they felt as they watched these two extraordinary witches do battle. Crighton's triumph, and its consequence for the wizarding world, are considered a turning point in magical history to match the introduction of the International Statue of Secrecy or the downfall of He Who Must Not Be Named, and the downfall of She Who Must Not Be Named._

 _Of course, some good did come into Susan's life in later years. Many men wanted to court her, but she refused them all, until she saw Matthew Dawson, a man who was a few decades younger than Susan, this is true, but Susan saw something in Matthew that no one else did, and the age difference did not affect either of them, for Matthew saw something in Susan, too, for they were courting, and within a matter of months they were wed. People talked about how Susan could have chosen someone like Matthew Dawson, a man with no fortune, for a husband, but Susan didn't care. She was too happy. Her aunt saw how happy she was, and so gave Susan the inheritance that she ought to have received at seventeen, but wanted to wait until Susan had got married first. Together, Susan and Matthew used some of the money to build a house that they would later come to raise their children in. The rest of the money was put away, and he amount grew because of Matthew's job as an Auror._

 _Susan and Matthew had eleven children: eight born of their mother, one adopted son and a further two sons they fostered. Susan was proud of all her children and loved them all dearly, but there was one child she loved more than any other: her firstborn, Sian. Anyone who ever saw them together could see just how much mother and daughter doted upon one another. Whenever I would see her, Susan would always say just how much she loved Sian, and I could see it in her eyes just how proud she was of Sian._

 _Susan Crighton was never proud or vain; she could find something to value in anyone, however apparently insignificant or wretched, and I believe that her early losses endowed her with great humanity and sympathy. I shall miss her friendship more than I can say, but my loss is nothing compared to that of the wizarding world's and, indeed, her family's. That she was the most inspiring and the best loved of all Dragon Mort's headmistresses cannot be in question. A loving, gentle, kind and affectionate wife and mother, she was, who will be sorely missed by all. She died as she lived: working always for the greater good and, to her last hour, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small girl with dragon pox as she was on the day that I met her._

I finished reading but continued to gaze at the picture of accompanying the obituary. Crighton was wearing her familiar, kindly smile, but as she peered at me from out of the newsprint she gave the impression, even in newsprint, of X-raying me, and I felt my sadness mingling with a sense of humiliation.

I had thought I knew Crighton quite well, but ever since reading this obituary I had been forced to recognise that I had barely known her at all. Never once had I imagined Crighton's childhood or youth; it was as though she had sprung into being as I had known her, vulnerable and loving and growing older. The idea of a teenage Crighton was simply odd, like trying to imagine a stupid Sian or a friendly Shudder-Ended Crab. And speaking of Sian ...

I couldn't remember ever feeling more sorry for Sian. I knew of the pain she was in, saw it in her eyes every day before we left Dragon Mort. Whenever I read her letters, she would always skip over the pain she was in, and no matter how many times I would ask her how she was feeling, Sian would always reply with, _"I am doing fine"_. Sian's letters were short and brief, but she always spoke well of her family, and about how Tanya and Geri were driving everyone crazy by keeping up their usual pranking antics. In her latest letter, Sian spoke of her youngest brother, Max, and how he was home, which surprised me, but what surprised me more was that she spoke with pride and joy about him instead of skipping over the subject like she always did, which meant that something must have happened between them. Making a mental note to ask Sian what had happened between her and Max, I then turned my attention back to Crighton.

I had never thought to ask Crighton about her past. No doubt it would have felt strange, impertinent even, but after all, it had been common knowledge that Crighton had taken part in that legendary duel with Femwazz, and I had not thought to ask Crighton what that had been like, nor about any of her other famous achievements. No, we had always discussed me, my past, my future, my plans ... and it seemed to me now, despite the fact that my future was so dangerous and so uncertain, that I had missed irreplaceable opportunities when I had failed to ask Crighton more about herself, even though the only personal question I had ever asked my Headmistress was also the only one I suspected that Crighton had not answered honestly:

 _"What do you see when you look in the Mirror?"_

 _"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick woollen socks."_

After several minutes' thought, I tore the obituary out of the _Squabbler_ , folded it carefully and tucked it inside the first volume of _Practical Defensive Magic and its use Against the Dark Arts_. Then I threw the rest of the newspaper on to the rubbish pile and turned to face the room. It was much tidier. The only things left out of place were today's _Daily Squabbler_ , still lying on the bed and, on top of it, the piece of broken mirror.

I moved across the room, slid the mirror fragment off today's _Squabbler_ and unfolded the newspaper. I had merely glanced at the headline when I had taken the rolled-up paper from the delivery owl early that morning and thrown it aside, after noting that it said nothing about Zira. I was sure that the Ministry was leaning on the _Squabbler_ to suppress news about Zira. It was only now, therefore, that I saw what I had missed.

Across the bottom half of the front page, a smaller headline was set over a picture of Crighton striding along looking harried: _CRIGHTON - THE TRUTH AT LAST?_

 _Coming next week, the shocking story of the floored genius considered by many to be the greatest witch of her generation. Stripping away the popular image of serene, greying-haired wisdom, Peter Meter reveals the disturbed childhood, the lawless youth, the lifelong feuds and the guilty secrets that Crighton carried to her grave. WHY was the woman tipped to be Minister for Magic content to remain a mere headmistress? WHAT was the real purpose of the secret organisation known as the Order of the Centaur? HOW did Crighton really meet her end?_

 _The answers to these, and many more questions are explored in the explosive new biography_ The Life and Lies of Susan Crighton _, by Peter Meter, exclusively interviewed by Bernard Brownlaw, page 13, inside._

I ripped open the paper and found page thirteen. The article was topped with a picture showing another familiar face: a man wearing jewelled glasses with elaborately curled, blond hair, his teeth bared in what was clearly supposed to be a winning smile, winking up at me. Doing my best to ignore this nauseating image, I read on.

 _In person, Peter Meter is much warmer and softer than his famously ferocious quill-portraits might suggest. Greeting me in the hallway of his cosy home, he leads me straight into the kitchen for a cup of tea, a slice of pound cake and, it goes without saying, a steaming vat of freshest gossip._

 _"Well, of course, Crighton is a biographer's dream," says Meter. "Such a long, full life. I'm sure my book will be the first of very, very many."_

 _Meter was certainly quick off the mark. His nine-hundred-page book was completed a mere four weeks after Crighton's mysterious death in June. I asked him how he managed this super-fast feat._

 _"Oh, when you've been a journalist as long as I have, working to a deadline is second nature. I knew that the wizarding world was clamouring for the full story and I wanted to be the fist to meet that need."_

 _I mention the recent, widely publicised remarks of Ellie Dodge, Special Advisor to the Wizengamot and long-standing friend of Susan Crighton's, that "Meter's book contains less fact than a Multi-Flavour Fruit-Frog Card."_

 _Meter throws back his head and laughs._

 _"Darling Dodgy! I remember interviewing her a few years back about merpeople rights, bless her. Completely gaga, seemed to think we were sitting at the bottom of Lake Windermere, kept telling me to watch out for trout."_

 _And yet Ellie Dodge's accusations of inaccuracy have been echoed in many places. Does Meter really feel that four short weeks have been enough to gain a full picture of Crighton's long and extraordinary life?_

 _"Oh, my dear man," beams Meter, clapping me on the back, "you know as well as I do how much information can be generated by a fat bag of Galleons, a refusal to hear the word 'no' and a nice sharp Quick-Quotes Quill! People were quelling to dish the dirt on Crighton, anyway. Not everyone thought she was so wonderful, you know - she trod on an awful lot of important toes. But old Dodgy Dodge can get off her high Hippogriff, because I've had access to a source most journalists would swap their wands for, one who has never spoken in public before and one who was close to Crighton during the most turbulent and disturbing phase of her youth."_

 _The advance publicity for Meter's biography has certainly suggested that there will be shocks in store for those who believe Crighton to have led a blameless life. What were the biggest surprises he uncovered, I ask._

 _"Now, come off it, Bernie, I'm not giving away all the highlights before anybody's bought the book!" laughs Meter. "But I can promise that anybody who still thinks Crighton was as white as the lilies that covered her tomb is in for a rude awakening! Let's just say that nobody hearing her rage against She-You-Know would have dreamed that she had dabbled in the Dark Arts herself in her youth! And for a witch who spent her later years pleading for tolerance, she wasn't exactly broad-minded when she was younger! Yes, Susan Crighton had an extremely murky past, not to mention that very fishy family, which she worked so hard to keep hushed up."_

 _I ask whether Meter is referring to Crighton's sister, Sara, whose conviction by the Wizengamot for misuse of magic caused a minor scandal fifteen years ago._

 _"Oh, Sara is just the tip of the dungheap," laughs Meter. "No, no, I'm talking about much worse than a sister with a fondness for fiddling about with sheep, worse even than the Muggle-maiming mother - Crighton couldn't keep either of them quiet, anyway, they were both charged by the Wizengamot. No, it's the father and the brother that intrigued me, and a little digging uncovered a positive nest of nastiness - but, as I say, you'll have to wait for chapters nine to twelve for full details. All I can say now is, it's not wonder Crighton never talked about how her nose got broken."_

 _Family skeletons notwithstanding, does Meter deny the brilliance that led to Crighton's many magical discoveries?_

 _"She had brains," he concedes, "although many now question whether she could really take full credit for all of her supposed achievements. As I reveal in chapter sixteen, Ivor Dillonsby claims he had written out most of the useful notes on the twelve uses of dragon's blood when Crighton 'borrowed' his papers."_

 _But the importance of some of Crighton's achievements, I venture, be denied. What of her famous defeat of Femwazz?_

 _"Oh, now, I'm glad you mentioned Femwazz," says Meter, with a tantalising smile. "I'm afraid those who go dewy-eyed over Crighton's spectacular victory must brace themselves for a bombshell - or perhaps a Dungbomb. Very dirt business indeed. All I'll say is, don't be sure that there really was the spectacular duel of legend. After they've read my book, people may be forced to conclude that Femwazz simply conjured a white handkerchief from the end of her wand and come quietly!"_

 _Meter refuses to give any more away on this intriguing subject, so we turn instead to the relationship that will undoubtedly fascinate his readers more than any other._

 _"Oh yes," says Meter, nodding briskly, "I devote an entire chapter to the whole Pride-Lander - Crighton relationship, and another chapter is focused on the relationship Crighton had with her firstborn. But the Pride-Lander - Crighton relationship has been called unhealthy, even sinister. Again, your readers will have to buy my book for the whole story, but there is no question that Crighton took an unnatural interest in Pride-Lander from the word go. Whether that was really in the girl's best interests - well, we'll see. It's certainly an open secret that Pride-Lander has had a troubled adolescence."_

 _I turn back to Crighton's firstborn child for a moment and ask Meter what he thinks of the relationship that she and her mother had._

 _"Oh, no doubt it was a loving one," says Meter, "but still, there's something about it that seems rather off to me. Yes, Sian - Crighton's firstborn - is a lot like her mother, and yes, it makes sense that Crighton would spend a lot of time with her, but did she ever spend time with any of her other children? Did she even love them? Sian would deny that it was emotional neglect, but I beg to differ. And why was Crighton spending a lot of time with Sian for, anyway? If you ask me, there's something big there, something that needs to be uncovered, which even I, good journalist that I am, could not get to the bottom of - well, not yet, anyway."_

 _Turning my attention back to Kiara Pride-Lander, I ask Meter whether he is still in touch with her, whom he so famously interviewed last year: a breakthrough piece in which Pride-Lander spoke exclusively of her conviction that She-You-Know had returned._

 _"Oh, yes, we've developed a close bond," says Meter. "Poor Pride-Lander has a few real friends, and we met at one of the most testing moments of her life - the Triwizard Tournament. I am probably one of the only people alive who can say that they know the real Kiara Pride-Lander."_

 _Which leads us to the many rumours still circulating about Crighton's final hours. Does Meter believe that Pride-Lander was there when Crighton died?_

 _"Well, I don't want to say too much - it's all in the book - but eye witnesses inside Dragon Mort Castle saw Pride-Lander running away from the scene moments after Crighton fell, jumped or was pushed. Pride-Lander later gave evidence against Tiana Triphorm, a woman against whom she has a notorious grudge. Is everything as it seems? That is for the wizarding community to decide - once they've read my book."_

 _On that intriguing note I take my leave. There can be no doubt that Meter has quilled an instant bestseller. Crighton's legions of admirers, meanwhile, may well be trembling at what is soon to emerge about their hero._

I reached the bottom of the article, but continued to stare blankly at the page, as revulsion and fury rose inside me like vomit at what I had just read; I balled up the newspaper and threw it, with all my force, at the wall, where it joined the rest of the rubbish heaped around my overflowing bin.

I began to stride blindly around the room, opening empty drawers and picking up books only to replace them on the same piles, as random phrases from Peter's article echoed in my head: _an entire chapter to the whole Pride-Lander - Crighton relationship_ ... _it's been called unhealthy, even sinister_ ... _she dabbled in the Dark Arts herself in her youth_ ... _I've had access to a source most journalists would swap their wands for_ ...

"Lies!" I bellowed, as I sat down hard on the bed. The broken bit of mirror danced away from me; I picked it up and turned it over in my fingers, thinking of Crighton and the lies with which Peter Meter was defaming her ...

A flash of emerald green. I froze, my cut finger slipping on the jagged edge of the mirror again. I had imagined it, I must have done. I glanced over my shoulder, but the wall was painted with flowers and various bright colours that I had done as a child: there was nothing emerald green there for the mirror to reflect. I peered into the mirror fragment again, and saw nothing but my own dark amber eye looking back at me.

I had imagined it, there was no other explanation; imagined it, because I had been thinking of my dead Headmistress. If anything was certain, it was that the bright, emerald green eyes of Susan Crighton would never pierce my own again.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: So, here comes a rather emotional chapter in which Kiara and her grandmothers part. Now, I have to say that Kiara and Mavuto forgive each other. The reason for this is that Mavuto realises the effect the war is having on their lives and how much time she lost with her sister and that she fears she could die at the hand of the Love Destroyers, and that's why she asks Kiara for forgiveness, not to mention the fact that Nala is still alive and therefore she could have the chance to reconnect with her sister once the war is over. Sorry for spoiling this for you but I had to say it, and I'm sorry if none of you like this decision very much, but I'm sticking with it. So enjoy this chapter as much as you can and I'll be posting another chapter next week.**

 **Chapter 4**

 **The Parting**

 **KIARA**

As I sat there on my bed, looking around at all the painting I had done on the walls in my childhood that seemed like a lifetime ago, in the room that wasn't mine any more, I thought back to why I was packing (apart from the obvious reason), and to think, it had all started with a knock at the door, a few days after I had come home for the holidays ...

I remember that my grandmothers and I were having breakfast in the kitchen, discussing our plans for the day, when we heard the front door bang open. Grandmother Sarabi, Grandmother Sarafina and I jumped and turned to see what the unexpected intrusion was, when in barged Aunt Mavuto, red-faced with fury, closely followed by Carol, whose face was lowered to the ground, which surprised me, for whenever she saw us she would always have a sneer ready. Uncle Frank came in last; I figured that he, at least, remembered to close the front door.

Before my grandmothers and I could ask what was going on, Aunt Mavuto raised her fist in fury, in which I could see a tightly crumpled piece of paper, which turned out to be a letter. She demanded to know why we would send her that letter to meet us at this date and time. My grandmothers and I were confused, for we didn't know anything about a letter, and when we tried to explain this as calmly as we could to Aunt Mavuto, this only seemed to enrage her more, claiming that she had known that we would do something like this, trick her, Uncle Frank and Carol to come over, only to deny we had ever done it, like a stupid prank. This led to a pretty intense argument between Grandmother Sarabi and Aunt Mavuto, the two women standing and screaming down each other's throats. Grandmother Sarafina and I said nothing but remained at the table, watching them; Carol said nothing, either, but kept her eyes fixed on the floor; and a couple of times, Uncle Frank would try to interrupt, but Aunt Mavuto would always wave him back, still keeping her angry eyes fixed on Grandmother Sarabi. This went on for a few minutes, before there was a sharp knock at the door, shutting the screaming adults up, their eyes turned to the way to the front door. Grandmother Sarafina went to answer it, and when she came back she was followed by two more people I didn't expect to see (well, not that soon, anyway): Mr Dawson and Kara Shackles.

As soon as they saw them, Grandmother Sarabi's and Aunt Mavuto's eyes widened in shock at the sight of the two wizards standing there. Uncle Frank looked at them and Carol looked up. I stood up, not knowing what was going on but knowing two things: their visit had something to do with me, and whatever they had to say was something very important.

"Matthew, Kara," Grandmother Sarabi said calmly, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. "What are you doing here?"

"We'll explain in a moment, Sarabi," said Mr Dawson, "when we've all sat down and try to talk civilly, for what Kara and I have to say involves everyone here - "

"Wait a moment," said Aunt Mavuto, her voice rising again. "It was you. You sent me this letter, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," said Kara in her calm, smooth voice. "It is important for you to be here, Mrs Smith, for the lives of you and your family are in danger as much as the rest of our lives are, and if you will be calm for a few minutes, we will happily explain everything to you."

Aunt Mavuto hesitated, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, before she marched over to the armchair near the window and slumped into it. Uncle Frank, Carol and Grandmother Sarafina took the sofa and Grandmother Sarabi took the only other armchair in the lounge area. I got up from the table and stood behind Grandmother Sarabi's armchair; she looked up, patted my hand and we shared a brief smile before looking back at Mr Dawson and Kara, both of whom remained standing.

"Now, we're here today to explain to you what's going to happen in four weeks," Kara said calmly to the room at large. "As you all know, Lady Zira is back in the open, and seeing as she knows that you are all related to Kiara somehow, she will stop at nothing to hunt each and every one of you down, torture you for information about Kiara, and then kill you once she has everything she needs. But we're going to make sure that doesn't happen."

"How?" asked Aunt Mavuto, no longer slouching and angry, but straight-backed and alert.

"By transferring you, your husband, daughter, mother and Sarabi to a safe house somewhere far from here, which will be given Order protection," said Mr Dawson. "In four weeks time, Mrs Smith, you and your family we drive here and will meet Sarabi and Sarafina and a couple of members of the Order, one will be in your car, and the other will be following in Sarabi's car. You will drive for ten miles, then will be Apparated to the safe house. Our Order members will help you will the Apparition part, never fear."

"What about Kiara?" said Grandmother Sarabi, clutching my hand tightly.

"She will remain here," said Mr Dawson, turning to me. "Crazy-Head will be coming after your relatives leave, Kiara, and the two of you will Apparate to Dawson Manor."

I nodded, not knowing what to say. Then Aunt Mavuto fortunately decided to speak.

"But what about our lives?" she said, sounding both desperate and frightened. "My business? Carol's school?"

"Madam, we understand your worries," said Kara calmly, "but we cannot impress upon you the danger that you are all in. Zira has many followers on her side - many dangerous creatures at that - that she will use. She and her followers will torture and kill you when they get the chance to and will stop at nothing to get what they want, and that is why we are going to move you to safety. When all of this is over, we will bring you back home and you may resume your normal lives, we promise you, but for now we can't take any chances. We're sorry."

My aunt's face paled considerably and she sank back into her chair; Grandmother Sarafina patted her arm reassuringly and Uncle Frank put his arm around Carol and pulled her to him. Mr Dawson then spoke.

"The plan will go ahead on the twenty-sixth, four days before Kiara turns seventeen, at half-past six. You must all be here, ready to leave, before that time. By seven o'clock that night this house must be empty. You all have four weeks to make your plans. Use them well and wisely. We'll see ourselves out."

They left. The rest of us sat in silence, all of us lost in our own thoughts. I suddenly wasn't hungry any more. Four weeks ... That's all I had left with my grandmothers, but I was going to make sure that every last moment with them was a good one.

After a while, Uncle Frank spoke into the uncomfortable silence. "Well ..." he said, clapping his hands on his knees, "I think we'd best be off. There's lots to do, after all ... right, Mav?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes," said Aunt Mavuto, jumping to her feet. "Lots of calls to make. People to see. Busy, busy, busy." Turning to Grandmother Sarabi she said, "I'm sorry, not just for bursting in without knocking, but for accusing you about the letter, too."

Grandmother Sarabi looked shocked, and she wasn't the only one, for in all the time we had known her, Aunt Mavuto had never apologised to my grandmother or me, but she quickly got over it, for she said, "That's quite all right, Mavuto. I would have probably done the same thing if it were me."

Aunt Mavuto gave her a wry smile and said, "That's no excuse for what I did." She then sighed deeply and said, "We'll see you in four weeks, then. Come on, you two," she added to Uncle Frank and Carol, who followed Aunt Mavuto out of the room.

Once the front door had closed again, Grandmother Sarafina sighed heavily and put her head in her hands.

"Oh, Sarabi," she said, her voice muffled slightly. "What are we to do?"

"I know, Sarafina," said Grandmother Sarabi gently. "Four weeks is not exactly a long time."

"No, it's not," I said, my voice sounding stronger than I felt; my grandmothers both turned to look at me, and seeing them looking at me attentively gave me the courage to continue. "Yes, we have four weeks together, but let's not spend them in sadness and worry. Let's make them the best four weeks we've ever had together, so that whenever we're missing one another, feeling sad, we can look back on the last few weeks we'll possibly ever spend together with happiness and try to laugh, for I believe that in the midst of dark times, a little laughter can go a long way. What do you both say?"

My grandmothers both smiled at me and Grandmother Sarabi said, "You're right, Kiara. We shouldn't dwell on our sadness just yet. How lucky we are to be blessed with a granddaughter like you." She then stood up, walked around the chair and hugged me. A moment later, I felt Grandmother Sarafina's arms surround me, too. I felt like crying in that moment, but I held the tears back, willing myself not to shed them; there would be a time for tears at a later date.

After that, my grandmothers and I did spend a lot of time together. We went on hikes, took picnics together, had a lot of movie nights and a whole load of other activities. I knew that my grandmothers were using these activities as distractions for their sadness, and not once did I blame them for it, because I was doing exactly the same thing which I was glad of, for each activity was filled with joy and laughter, something my grandmothers and I relished in. It took me back to my childhood, to a time when my life was simple, innocent and less chaotic, and I cherished those memories because I knew that I would not have times like those ever again - well, not for a long time, anyway.

These activities always took place in the afternoon. The mornings were dedicated to sorting through what was to be kept, sold and chucked. Old items of furniture, odd scraps of clothing and things that didn't work any more were, of course, sent to the dump. Things like my old clothes, toys and other things I didn't use any more but were still in good condition were given away to people who could use them. Of course, my grandmothers kept my precious things, like my baby clothes, my baby teeth, a lock of hair from when I was younger (you see where I'm going with this).

Anyway, I left that stuff to my grandmothers, while I took my horse, Timmy, for long rides of a morning, spending as much times with him as I could. We visited our usual haunts, and I let Timmy wander off on his own, but never let him get too far. I would watch him running, with the wind flying freely through his mane, and I wondered, always, how he would be when the bitter moment would come when we would have to part.

Dinner was always a happy affair. We would often reminisce about my childhood (the good times, obviously), and sometimes my grandmothers would reveal secret from their childhood days, too (not that I'm telling any of you, sorry). But at night, when I went to bed, that's when it was the hardest for me not to cry; it always felt like there was an overwhelming sadness looming over the house, and with each passing day the sadness only grew stronger, and I felt at night like it was slowly crushing down on me, like a great weight lying on my chest. I would lie in bed for hours, willing myself not to cry by repeating a mantra over and over in my head: _not here, not now_ ... _not here, not now_ ... _not here, not now_ ...

This became hard for me to do a week before my grandmothers and I were due to part. I had just taken Timmy out for a run in the morning, and when we got back we found a trailer there for horses, and I knew what was going to happen, even before Grandmother Sarabi said, "It's time to say goodbye, Kiara." So I unsaddled him and removed his saddle bags. As we led him towards the truck, Timmy began to freak out; he neighed and kicked, but I calmed him down petting him gently and telling him, "Hey, I know you don't want to go, and I don't want to let you go, either. But you have to go, Timmy. It's too dangerous for you here now. So please, please calm down." I kept stroking him as I said this, and my words and soft petting seemed to have a strong effect on him for he did calm down. I hugged him then and said, "Never forget me, Timmy. I love you, and I promise you that when all this is over, I will come and get you. I swear." I then kissed his neck and let him go.

Watching the trailer drive away was hard for me. It was horrible to see him go, because Timmy wasn't just a horse or a pet to me, he was my friend, and a very good and dear one at that. Grandmother Sarabi came and hugged me then. I fell into her warm arms gladly, relishing myself in her comfort, and I let a tear slide for my dear friend, hoping and praying that I would see him again.

Nothing seemed to make my spirits rise after that. My grandmothers tried their best, of course, but seeing as there was only one week left until we separated, we all seemed to immerse ourselves in the sadness more. I distanced myself from my grandmothers, sitting in the garden (as walking around the village on my own in these times would be a foolish thing to do) and shutting myself in my room, where I would start sorting my trunk out.

And so, our final night together as a family had arrived. My grandmothers had prepared a wonderful three-course meal: tomato soup with bread for starters, a roast dinner - consisting of chicken, mashed potatoes, roast potatoes, mashed carrots and swede together, broccoli, parsnips, cauliflower and gravy - for main and apple crumble and custard for dessert. We had no bad memories or sad feelings around the table that night, just good food, good conversation and plenty of happiness to go around.

That night as I lay in bed, waiting to go to sleep, I heard the door open and felt Grandmother Sarabi lie down next to me. She put her arms around me and stroked my hair like she used to do when I was a kid. I could have kicked her out of my bed, but I didn't for two reasons: I liked it, and I knew it was a special last moment for her that I didn't want to ruin.

I thought about all these things until I heard the sound of a car approaching and Grandmother Sarafina calling, "Kiara, they're here!"

"Coming, Grandmother," I called back, and getting up slowly from my bed, I crossed the room, opened the door and went downstairs.

The Smiths were already in the house when I entered the lounge. They were all wearing jackets and sad expressions, as were my grandmothers. They all looked at me as I approached.

"So ..." said Aunt Mavuto slowly, "this is it, huh?"

I nodded. "Yes, Aunt. This is it."

There was a knock on the door. I went to answer it and opened it to reveal Delilah and Hedley.

"Kiara Pride-Lander!" squeaked an excited voice, the moment I had opened the door; a small woman in a purple witch's hat was sweeping me a deep curtsey. "An honour, as ever!"

"Thanks, Delilah," I said, bestowing a small and embarrassed smile upon the dark-haired Hedley. "It's really good of you to do this ... they're through here, my aunt, uncle, cousin and my grandmothers ..."

"Good day to you, Kiara Pride-Lander's relatives!" said Delilah Hedley, striding into the living room. My aunt, uncle and cousin smiled politely at being addressed thus, whereas my grandmothers beamed with pride.

"I see you are all packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as has been already explained to you, is a simple one," said Delilah, examining a large golden watch on her wrist. "We shall be leaving before Kiara does. Due to the danger of using magic in your house, Sarabi - Kiara being still under-age, it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to arrest her - we shall be driving, say ten miles or so, before Disapparating to the safe location we have picked out for you. You both know how to drive, I take it?" she asked Aunt Mavuto and Grandmother Sarabi politely. Aunt Mavuto looked thunderstruck, so Grandmother Sarabi answered for them both.

"Yes, Delilah, we do."

"Very clever of you both, very clever, I personally would be bamboozled by all those buttons and knobs," said Delilah. She was very clearly under the impression that she was flattering Aunt Mavuto and Grandmother Sarabi. The latter laughed as the former shook her head angrily.

"Can't even drive," she muttered under her breath, but fortunately neither Delilah nor Hedley seemed to have heard her.

"You, Kiara," Delilah continued, "will wait here for your guard. There has been a little change in the arrangements - "

"What d'you mean?" I said at once. "I thought Crazy-Head was going to come and take me by Side-Along-Apparition?"

"Can't do it," said Hedley tersely. "Crazy-Head will explain."

The Smiths, who had listened to this with looks of utter incomprehension on their faces, jumped as a loud voice screeched: _"Hurry up!"_ I looked all around the room before realising that the voice had issued from Delilah's watch.

"Quite right, we're operating to a very tight schedule," said Delilah, nodding at her watch and covering it up with the sleeve of her robe. "We are attempting to time your departure from the house with your family's Disapparition, Kiara; thus, the charm breaks at the moment you all head for safety." She turned to the Smiths. "Well, are we all packed and ready to go?"

Seeing as none of the Smiths weren't going to answer her, Grandmother Sarabi answered for them. "Yes, Delilah, we are."

"We'll be waiting for you outside, Kiara," said Hedley, inclining his head to the door. Getting the hint, Delilah followed him at once.

Once the front door had shut, Aunt Mavuto stood and approached me. There was no anger when I looked in her eyes, no trace of disgust or shame. Instead I saw that she was nervous and hesitant, qualities that I found odd to see in my aunt, and when she spoke her voice trembled slightly and was hesitant.

"Kiara ... will you give this to my sister, please?" she asked, pulling out a sealed envelope. "Tell her that I'm sorry ... for everything. She'll understand."

I gazed up at my aunt questioningly, wondering if this was just some trick of hers, but looking in her eyes I could see nothing but honesty and guilt. So I nodded and took the letter from her.

"Thank you," she said. Aunt Mavuto looked nervous again, and I did not know why, until she said. "I owe you an apology, too, Kiara."

I was so shocked by her words that I was speechless. Seeing as I wasn't going to say anything, she continued, "I was jealous of you and of my sister for being part of a magical world that I longed to be a part of ever since I was a girl, and because I couldn't I took my anger out on you and my sister, and that was unfair. I see now that I was a fool for acting so, and having my sister back I realise how much time I have wasted for being angry at her and you, and I only hope that you can - "

"It's all right, Aunt," I said, stopping her blabbering. "I do forgive you, and I'm sure that Mum does, too. It's never too late to renew a relationship, you know. Maybe once all this is over we can spend some time together?"

"I'd like that. Thank you, Kiara, and good luck." Aunt Mavuto then hugged me. I hesitated for a moment, then hugged her back, wishing that she could have been like this when I was younger. We let go after a few moments and as Aunt Mavuto stepped back, Uncle Frank came over to me.

"I don't need to hide anything from you, do I?" he said with a teasing smile. I shook my head, laughing, and we hugged. Pulling back, he said, "I've got something for you." And out of the satchel he was carrying on one shoulder he pulled out a box of doughnuts. "For your birthday," he explained, "but if you want to have a cheeky one from me beforehand, I won't blame you," he added with a cheeky wink.

I giggled. "Thank you, Uncle," I said sweetly, taking the box from him. He then kissed my cheek and wished me luck and went to stand next to Aunt Mavuto. Then Carol approached, smiling slightly at me.

"Are you sure you can't come with us?" she asked me.

"I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head, "but I'm needed elsewhere. Besides, I'm pretty sure your mum secretly thinks of me as a waste of space."

"I don't think that."

If I had not seen Carol's lips move, I might not have believed it. As it was, I stared at Carol for several seconds before accepting that it must have been my cousin who had spoken; for one thing, Carol had turned bright red, and I was embarrassed and astonished at what she had said, too.

"Well ... er ... thanks, Carol."

Again, Carol appeared to grapple with her thoughts too unwieldy for expression before mumbling, "You saved my life."

"Not really," I said. "It was your soul the Stinger would have taken ..."

I looked curiously at my cousin. We had had no contact during this summer or last, seeing as Carol, my aunt and uncle had not come to visit my grandmothers and I much. Looking at my cousin now, I could see that her gratitude was genuine, even as her face became more red and she said, "Yeah ... well ... I'm still grateful."

I smiled and shook my head. I didn't know why I was embarrassed by my cousin's words. Maybe because it was because I had never pictured her being in this light before, or maybe it was because she had spent so much time living in her mother's shadow that I had imagined her as a miniature version of her mother. But all I knew for sure was that Carol wanted to make a fresh start, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted it, too.

"Carol?" I said, looking at her.

"Yeah?" she said, looking at me nervously.

"Would you ... would you like to exchange numbers?" I asked her hesitantly.

"Sure!" she said delightedly once the shock had dispersed. I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as Carol and I pulled out our phones, exchanged them and typed our numbers in them. Once we handed our phones back and replaced them, Carol opened her arms out awkwardly. I stared at her.

"Blimey, Carol," I said, "did the Stingers blow a different personality into you or something?"

"Dunno, maybe," muttered Carol. She approached me awkwardly and I hugged her tightly. "See you, Kiara."

"Yeah ..." I said. "Maybe. See you, Big C."

We let go then and gave each other a swift smile as Carol joined her parents.

I then felt something furry brush against my feet, and looking down I saw that it was Crooks, who was purring. He stopped moving and looked up at me, his head cocked to one side as though asking for permission.

"Crooks," I sighed, holding out my arms for him, which he jumped into easily. He touched my face softly with his paw, looking at me sadly - don't ask me how I know, I just do - before he buried his head into my neck, which I knew was Crooks' way of saying goodbye.

I chuckled sadly and said, "I'm going to miss you too, you stupid moggy." Crooks lifted his head and gave me a look of disgust before he nuzzled his cheek against mine, jumped out of my arms on to the coffee table and trotted into his travelling case.

I heard a soft laugh behind me. Turning around, I watched as Grandmother Sarafina walked to the coffee table and shut and locked the travelling case. Standing up straight again she faced me and said, "He was determined not to get in until he said goodbye to you, Kiara." Her expression then became serious as she added, "Know that we are always thinking of you, wherever you are, and that we love you. Never forget that, will you?"

"Never," I repeated firmly, and we hugged.

"I love you, Kiara."

"Love you, too, Grandmother Sarafina," I said back. We let go, and even though the last and hardest goodbye had come, I wasn't sure I could do it. Grandmother Sarafina must have sensed my hesitation for she helpfully said, "We'll wait outside for you, Sarabi." She then picked up her suitcase and Crooks' travelling case and followed Uncle Frank out the door, with Aunt Mavuto and Carol in tow.

When the front door had closed again I turned to face Grandmother Sarabi, who was carrying a box and some parcels that I had not noticed before. I looked at them curiously and Grandmother Sarabi hastened to explain.

"This box is to be given to your father, and the packages are birthday presents for you from myself and Sarafina." She placed them on the coffee table next to the doughnuts and added, "This letter is for you, from me, to be opened on your birthday." She then placed a sealed envelope on top of the packages. "There's a bag on the kitchen table for you to put them all in."

I nodded, not knowing what to say, and I don't think Grandmother Sarabi did either, for she said, "Even though we've had a whole month to prepare for this moment, I'm still not ready."

"Neither am I," I said, stull unsure of what to say. Grandmother Sarabi chuckled at my words before her expression turned serious again.

"I remember the very day, over sixteen years ago now, when Sarafina and I took you in as a baby, and now, seeing the beautiful young woman that baby has grown into who stands before me ... I am so proud of you, Kiara. After everything you've been through, everything you have suffered, you haven't lost yourself. Not really. Yes, you've had a few rough turns along the way, Kiara, but you are still the same kind, brave, beautiful young woman you have always been, who I am proud to call my granddaughter."

I felt my eyes begin to blur at her words, and the next thing I knew we were in each other's arms, clinging to each other tightly, knowing that this could be the last hug we ever shared.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Grandmother," I said, my voice cracking up as Grandmother Sarabi stroked my hair, "and I love you. Forever."

"And I you, sweetie," said Grandmother Sarabi, her own voice cracking up. "Be brave. Be strong. Be true. Never forget yourself, and if you ever feel like you are alone, just think of me and Sarafina and Simba and Nala, and remember that even though you may feel alone out there, there will always be someone out there who loves you and is thinking of you. Never forget that, will you, sweetie?"

"Never," I repeated, hugging her even tighter.

"Good girl." Grandmother Sarabi then kissed my head and let me go. The two of us took deep breaths and dried our eyes. As Grandmother Sarabi bent to pick up her suitcase, I remembered that there was something I had to tell her.

"Grandmother Sarabi?"

She straightened up, holding her suitcase, looking right at me. "What is it, Kiara?"

"I just wanted to thank you," I said, smiling at her.

These words surprised my grandmother. "Thank me? For what?"

"Not just for taking me in when you didn't have to and raising me all those years, but for bringing me back to the wizarding world. I know it hasn't been fun at times, but I'm still grateful."

Grandmother Sarabi gave me a smile full of pride and love. "You're welcome, sweetie," she said, coming up to me and kissing me on top of the head. Adjusting the hold on her suitcase she said, "Well, let's get out there, shall we?" I nodded and followed her out the door.

Outside, I could see that the Smith's car, which had luggage tied to the top of the car as well as being put in an attachable truck, had all three Smiths already seated inside. Over by Grandmother Sarabi's car, Grandmother Sarafina was talking quietly to Delilah and Hedley. The three of them looked around when they head the door open and Delilah and Hedley rushed over to me. Grandmother Sarabi kissed my cheek one last time, stroked my hair back from my face and walked to her car.

"Right, Kiara," said Delilah, "we'll be off now." She then wrung my hand with both of her own. "Good luck. I hope we meet again. The hopes of the wizarding world rest upon your shoulders."

"Oh," I said, "right. Thanks."

"Farewell, Kiara," said Hedley, also clasping my hand. "Our thoughts go with you."

"I hope everything goes OK," I said, with a glance towards the Smith's car.

"Oh, I'm sure we shall end up the best of chums," said Delilah brightly. I doubted this somehow, and Hedley seemed to think so too, for he strode to the Smith's car, and Delilah all but ran to Grandmother Sarabi's.

I was looking at the latter car, and I noticed that Grandmother Sarabi was looking at me sadly. At that moment, all I wanted to do was scream "Don't go!", but I couldn't, and I knew from looking at her that she really wanted to stay, but we both knew that she couldn't; the moment of parting had come, and the longer we stood there staring at each other, the harder it was going to be for us to leave. After several long seconds, however, she mouthed _I love you_ to me which I mouthed back before she got into her car, shut the door and prepared to start the engine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

 **The Seven Pride-Landers**

 **KIARA**

I shut the front door and ran quickly back upstairs to my bedroom, arriving at the open window just in time to see the two cars driving off. I leaned my head out the window, waving them off, but keeping my eyes fixed on the former car, the car containing my grandmothers and Delilah, until it was gone from sight into the setting sun.

I then put my head back inside and closed the window for the last time before I got off my bed without straightening the covers. No one was going to sleep there any more, so what was the point? I then picked up Harold's cage, my Firecracker and my rucksack, gave my bedroom one last sweeping look and then made my ungainly way back downstairs to the living room and kitchen, not bothering to look in on my grandmothers' old rooms, as I had done that only this morning when my grandmothers were preparing breakfast. It felt strange seeing the rooms messy with boxes, clothes and ornaments lying pell-mell all over the floor and the beds, but it was also a sign that it was, indeed, leaving day.

Anyhoo, when I arrived downstairs I deposited cage, broomstick and bag near the kitchen table. On it, I saw the bag that Grandmother Sarabi had left for me to put the gifts, the box for my father and the doughnuts Uncle Frank had left for me. Once these things were all in the bag I sealed it and put it next to my rucksack. Standing up and looking around the empty kitchen, I suddenly realised that I was, indeed, all alone in an empty house. Not _home_ , house. This was not my home any more, it was just a shell of what had once been. It then hit me that this was the last home I would have for a while; Dawson Manor was just a resting spot, after all. For a long time, I would not have a home, just a hope and a dream of what a home could be. I almost shed a tear at the thought, but I quickly stopped myself. There would be a time for tears later.

There was a sudden, deafening roar from somewhere nearby, making me jump and stumble backwards, knocking over my rucksack and falling to the floor. I scrambled back to my feet, righted my rucksack and walked to the kitchen window, staring out of it into the back garden.

The darkness seemed to be rippling, the air itself quivering. Then, one by one, figures began to pop into sight as their Disillusionment Charms lifted. Dominating the scene was Mina, wearing a helmet and goggles and sitting astride an enormous motorbike with a black sidecar attached. All around her other people were dismounting from brooms and, in two cases, skeletal, black winged horses.

Wrenching open the back doo, I hurtled myself into their midst. There was a general cry of greeting as Sian and Chrissie flung their arms around me and Mina said, "All right', Kiara? Ready fer the off?"

"Deifnitely," I said, beaming around at them all. "But I wasn't expecting this many of you!"

"Change of plan," growled Crazy-Head, who was holding two enormous, bulging sacks and whose four magical eyes were spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with dizzying rapidity. "Let's get undercover before we talk you through it."

I led them all back into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, they settled on chairs, sat themselves upon Grandmother Sarabi's gleaming work surfaces or leaned up against her spotless appliances: Chrissie, tall and grinning; Tanya and Geri, grinning identically; Sam, badly scarred and short-haired; Mr Dawson, kind-faced, going grey-haired; Crazy-Head, battle-worn, one-legged, her four bright blue magical eyes whizzing on top of her head; Todd, whose short hair was her favourite shade of bright pink; Meers, greyer, more lined; Ferdinand, tall and handsome, with his long black hair; Kara, black, powerful and strong; Mina, with her smooth hair and head, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling, and Mona Fetch, small, dirty and hangdog, with her droopy, basset hound's eyes and matted hair. My heart seemed to expand and glow at the sight: I felt incredibly fond of all of them, even Mona, whom I had tried to strangle the last time we had met.

I then looked at Sian, who was standing next to Chrissie, properly, and though she was smiling and laughing like the rest, something seemed ... _off_ about her: her smile seemed forced like her laughter; her smile didn't reach her eyes; and her eyes, though happy, had a sadness etched into them somehow, a sadness which lingered around her like an incurable disease. Her hair was still tied up with not a single hair out of place and, though she tried her best to stand as tall and proud as she always did, her shoulders were slightly hunched and her head was bowed slightly too, like she was trying to withdraw into herself.

Looking around the kitchen again I noticed that there were three people missing: my parents, (obviously, for they were in as much danger as I was), and Chris. Where was he? And why was he not here with the others? Sian, who seemed to understand my confusion, immediately answered, "Chris had to stay home, Kiara. You'll see why in a bit."

I honestly did not know what to make of this: whether to be relieved that I didn't have to face him yet, or hurt that he wasn't there for me. Truth be told, I hadn't thought about how I would greet Chris when I saw him. I still felt bad about the way things had ended between us, even though it was for the best that we did. I knew that Chris wouldn't intentionally hurt me and that he would wait for me, which I was grateful for, but I couldn't help but feel that it would be awkward for us to see each other every day, together but not really together ...

Making a mental not to speak to Chris when I got to Dawson Manor, I turned to Kara and called to her, "Kara, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?"

"He can get along without me for one night," said Kara. "You're more important."

"Kiara, guess what?" said Todd from her perch on top of the washing machine, and she wiggled her left hand at me; a ring glittered there.

"You got married?" I yelped, looking from her to Meers.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be there, Kiara, it was very quiet."

"That's brilliant, congrat- "

"All right, all right, we'll have time for a cosy catch-up later!" roared Grumpy over the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen. Grumpy dropped the sacks at her feet and turned to me. "As Delilah probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Prudence Thicko has gone over, which gives us a big problem. She's made it an imprisonable offence to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent She-You-Know getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your father's charm does that already. What she's really done is to stop you getting out of here safely.

"Second problem: you're under-age, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

"I don't - "

"The Trace, the Trace!" said Crazy-Head impatiently. "The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about under-age magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicko is going to know about it, and so will the Love Destroyers.

"We can't wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you'll lose all the protection your father gave you. In short, Prudence Thicko thinks she's got you cornered good and proper!"

I could not help but agree with the unknown Thicko.

"So what are we going to do?"

"We're going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace can't detect, because we don't need to cast spells to use them: brooms, Thestrals and Mina's motorbike."

I could see the flaws in this plan; however, I held my tongue to give Crazy-Head the chance to address them.

"Now, your father's charm will only break under two conditions: when you come of age, or - " Grumpy gestured around the pristine kitchen " - you no longer call this place home. You and your grandmothers are going your separate ways tonight, in the full understanding that you're never going to live together again, correct?"

I gulped hard and nodded.

"So this time, when you leave, there'll be no going back, and the charm will break the moment you get outside its range. We're choosing to break it early, because the alternative is waiting for She-You-Know to come and seize you the moment you turn seventeen.

"The one thing we've got on our side is that She-You-Know doesn't know we're moving you tonight. We've leaked a false trail to the Ministry: they think you're not leaving until the twenty-ninth. However, this is She-You-Know we're dealing with, so we can't just rely on her getting the date wrong; she's bound to have a couple of Love Destroyers patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we've given a dozen different houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we're going to hide you, they've all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kara's place, Sian's great-aunt Elizabeth's - you get the idea."

"Yeah," I said, not entirely truthfully, because I could still spot a gaping hole in the plan.

"You'll be going to Todd's parents: once you're within the boundaries of the protective enchantments we've put on their house, you'll be able to use a Portkey to Dawson Manor. Any questions?"

"Er - yes," I said. "Maybe they won't know which of the twelve secure houses I'm heading for at first, but won't it be sort of obvious once - " I performed a quick headcount " - fourteen of us fly off towards Todd's parents'?"

"Ah," said Grumpy, "I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won't be flying to Todd's parents'. There will be seven Kiara Pride-Landers moving through the skies tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house."

From inside her cloak Grumpy now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud. There was no need for her to say another word; I understood the rest of the plan immediately.

"No!" I said loudly, my voice ringing through the kitchen. "No way!"

"I told them you'd take it like this," said Sian, with a hint of complacency.

"If you think I'm going to let six people risk their lives - "

" - because it's the first time for all of us," said Chrissie.

"This is different, pretending to be me - "

"Well, none of us really fancy it, Kiara," said Tanya earnestly. "Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as scarred cows forever."

I did not smile.

"You can't do it if I don't cooperate, you need me to give you some hair."

"Well, that's that plan scuppered," said Geri. "Obviously there's no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate."

"Yeah, thirteen of us against one girl who's not allowed to use magic; we've got no chance," said Tanya.

"Funny," I said. "Really amusing."

"If it has to come to force, then it will," growled Grumpy, her magical eyes quivering a little as she glared at me, her free hand reaching into her pocket and pulling out a short, grubby, black-handed knife. "Everyone here's over-age, Pride-Lander, and they're all prepared to take the risk."

Mona shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye closest to her swerved sideways to glare at her out of the side of Grumpy's head.

"Let's have no more arguments. Time's wearing on. I want a few of your hairs, girl, now."

"But this is mad, there's no need - "

"No need!" snarled Grumpy. "With She-You-Know out there and half the Ministry on her side? Pride-Lander, if we're lucky, she'll have swallowed the fake bait and she'll be planning to ambush you on the twenty-ninth, but she'd be mad not to have a Love Destroyer or two keeping an eye out, it's what I'd do. They might not be able to get at you or this house while your father's charm holds, but it's about to break and they know the rough position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even She-You-Know can't split herself into seven."

I caught Sian's eye and looked away at once.

"So, Pride-Lander - some of your hair, if you please."

I glanced at Chrissie, who grimaced at me in a just-do-it sort of way.

"Now!" barked Grumpy.

With all of their eyes upon me, I walked to Grumpy, took the knife from her and cut off a few strands of hair.

"Good," said Grumpy, taking the knife back from me and replacing it in her robes before she pulled the stopper out of the flask of potion. "Straight in here, if you please."

I dropped the hair into the mud-like liquid. The moment it made contact with its surface the Potion began to froth and smoke then, all at once, it turned a bright, clear gold.

"Ooh, you look much tastier than Crate, Gabber and Keziah, Kiara," said Sian, before catching sight of Chrissie's raised eyebrows and adding, "Oh, please, you know what I mean - Gabber's Potion looked like bogies."

"Right then, fake Pride-Landers line up over here, please," said Grumpy.

Sian, Chrissie, Tanya, Geri and Ferdinand lined up in front of Grandmother Sarabi's gleaming sink.

"We're one short," said Meers.

"Here," said Mina gruffly, and she lifted Mona by the scruff of the neck and dropped her down beside Ferdinand, who wrinkled his nose disgustedly and moved along to stand between Tanya and Geri instead.

"I've toldjer, I'd sooner be a protector," said Mona.

"Shut it," growled Grumpy. "As I've already told you, you spineless worm, any Love Destroyers we run into will be aiming to capture Pride-Lander, not kill her. Crighton always said She-You-Know would want to finish Pride-Lander in person. It'll be the protectors who have got the most to worry about, the Love Destroyers'll want to kill them."

Mona did not look particularly reassured, but Grumpy was already pulling half a dozen egg-cup-sized glasses from inside her cloak, which she handed out before pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one.

"Altogether, then ..."

Sian, Chrissie, Tanya, Geri, Ferdinand and Mona drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the Potion hit their throats: at once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Sian, Tanya and Geri shrank a few inches; Mona was shooting upwards and Ferdinand was shrinking, his long mane of hair becoming longer and thicker as well as changing colour quickly, becoming lighter by the second, along with the others.

Grumpy, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks she had brought with her: when she straightened up, there were six Kiara Pride-Landers gasping and panting in front of her.

Tanya and Geri turned to each other and said, "Wow - we're identical!"

"I dunno, though, I think I'm still better-looking," said Tanya, examining her reflection in the kettle.

"Bah," said Ferdinand, checking himself in the microwave door, "Sam, don't look at me - I'm 'ideous."

"Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I've got smaller here," said Grumpy, indicating the first sack, "and vice versa," she added, pointing to the other sack. "There's luggage in that one too when you're done."

I thought that this was the most bizarre thing I had ever seen, and that's saying something, seeing as I have seen some extremely odd things. I watched as my six doppelgangers rummaged in the sacks, pulling out sets of clothes before heading up the stairs to change, for which I was grateful. Those of us who were left behind in the kitchen only had to wait a few minutes before they all came back down, holding their own clothes in bundles.

"I knew Chris was lying about that tattoo," said Chrissie, looking annoyed.

"Kiara, your eyesight really is extraordinary," said Sian, looking around the place as though she had been blind a few minutes ago.

My doppelgangers placed their own clothes in one of the sacks before withdrawing luggage from a third.

"Good," said Grumpy, as at last seven dressed and luggage-laden Kiaras faced her. "The pairs will be a follows: Mona will be travelling with me, by broom - "

"Why'm I with you?" grunted the Kiara nearest the back door.

"Because you're the one that needs watching," growled Grumpy, and sure enough, her four magical eyes did not waver from Mona as she continued, "Matt and Tanya - "

"I'm Geri," said the twin at whom Grumpy was pointing. "Can't you even tell us apart when we're Kiara?"

"Sorry, Geri - "

"I'm only yanking your wand, I'm Tanya really - "

"Enough messing around!" snarled Grumpy. "The other one - Geri or Tanya or whoever you are - you're with Timon. Mr Desjardin - "

"I'm taking Ferdinand on a Thestral," said Sam. "He's not that fond of brooms."

Ferdinand walked over to stand beside her, giving her a soppy, slavish look that I hoped with all my heart would never appear on my face again.

"Eldest Dawson Girl with Kara, again by Thestral - "

Sian looked reassured as she answered Kara's smile; I knew that Sian, too, lacked confidence on a broomstick.

"Which leaves you and me, Chrissie!" said Todd brightly, knocking over a mug-tree as she waved at her.

Chrissie did not look quite as pleased as Sian.

"An' you're with me, Kiara. That all right'?" said Mina, looking a little anxious. "We'll be on the bike, brooms an' Thestrals can' take me weight, see. Not a lot o' room on the seat with me on it, though, so you'll be in the sidecar."

"That's great," I said, not altogether truthfully.

"We think the Love Destroyers will expect you to be on a broom," said Grumpy, who seemed to guess how I was feeling. "Triphorm's had plenty of time to tell them everything about you she's never mentioned before, so if we do run into any Love Destroyers, we're betting they'll choose one of the Pride-Landers who look at home on a broomstick. All right then," she went on, tying up the sack with the fake Pride-Landers' clothes in it, and leading the way to the back door, "I make it three minutes until we're supposed to leave. No point locking the back door, it won't keep the Love Destroyers out when they come looking ... Come on ..."

I picked up my rucksack, extra bag, Firecracker and Harold's cage before joining the others in the dark back garden. As the others were mounting broomsticks and Thestrals and Mina was walking to the bike, I opened the door on Harold's cage. He jumped on to my arm at once.

"See you at Dawson Manor, OK?" I asked him.

He nipped my ear affectionately, if a little too rough. I smiled slightly, said, "Safe flight, then, my friend," before letting him take off. I watched him until he quickly became obscured by the darkening sky before I closed Harold's cage, rearranged my hold on the bags and walked over to where Mina was standing ready beside the motorbike, goggles on.

"Is this it? Is this my father's bike?"

"The very same," said Mina, beaming down at me. "An' last time you was on it, Kiara, I could fit yeh in one hand!"

I could not help but feel a little humiliated as I got into the sidecar. It placed me several feet below everybody else: Chrissie smirked at the sight of me sitting there like a child in a bumper car. I stuffed my rucksack, extra bag and broomstick down by my feet and rammed Harold's cage between my knees. It was extremely uncomfortable.

"Matt's done a bit o' tinkerin'," said Mina, quite oblivious to my discomfort. She settled herself astride the motorcycle, which creaked slightly and sank inches into the ground. "It's got a few tricks up its handlebars now. Tha' one was my idea."

She pointed a thick finger at a purple button near the speedometer.

"Please be careful, Mina," said Mr Dawson, who was standing beside us, holding his broomstick. "I'm still not sure that was advisable and it's certainly only to be used in emergencies."

"All right then," said Grumpy. "Everyone ready, please; I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion's lost."

Everybody mounted their brooms.

"Hold tight, now, Chrissie," said Todd, and I saw Chrissie throw a furtive, guilty look at Meers before placing her hands on either side of her waist. Mina kicked the motorbike into life: it roared like a dragon and the sidecar began to vibrate.

"Good luck, everyone," shouted Grumpy. "See you all in about an hour at Dawson Manor. On the count of three. One ... two ... THREE."

There was a great roar from the motorbike and I felt the sidecar give a nasty lurch: I was rising through the air fast, my eyes watering slightly, my hair whipped back off my face. Around me brooms were soaring upwards too: the long, black tail of a Thestral flicked past. My legs, jammed into the sidecar by Harold's cage and my rucksack, were already sore and starting to go numb. So great was my discomfort that I almost forgot to take a last glimpse of what used to be my grandmothers' cottage, my home: a solitary building on a hill that was growing smaller and smaller; a single tear escaped me for the home that once was mine, the home I would never have or see again. Higher and higher we climbed into the sky -

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, we were surrounded. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended in mid-air, formed a vast circle in the midst of which the Order members had risen, oblivious -

Screams, a blaze of green light on every side: Mina gave a yell and the motorbike rolled over. I lost any sense of where we were : street lights above me, yells around me, I was clinging to the sidecar for dear life. Harold's cage, the Firecracker, my rucksack and extra bag slipped from beneath my knees -

"No!"

The broomstick spun to earth, but I just managed to seize the straps of my rucksack and the extra bag and the top of the cage as the motorbike swung the right way up again. A second's relief, and then another flash of green light went, missing me by inches as the motorbike zoomed forwards; I glimpsed hooded Love Destroyers scattering as Mina blasted through their circle.

I put my rucksack and extra bag back on to the floor of the sidecar and Harold's cage back between my knees. I then glanced over my shoulder and saw a mass of people moving, flares of green light, two pairs of people on brooms soaring off into the distance, but I could not tell who they were -

"Mina, we've got to go back, we've got to go back!" I yelled over the thunderous roar of the engine and pulling out my wand. "Mina, TURN ROUND!"

"Me job's ter get you there safe, Kiara!" bellowed Mina, and she opened the throttle.

"Stop - STOP!" I shouted. But as I looked back again two jets of green light flew past my left ear: four Love Destroyers had broken away from the circle and were pursuing us, aiming for Mina's broad back. Mina swerved, but the Love Destroyers were keeping up with the bike; more curses shot after us, and I had to sink low into the sidecar to avoid them. Wriggling round, I cried, _"Stupefy!"_ and a red bolt of light shot from my own wand, cleaving a gap between the four pursuing Love Destroyers as they scattered to avoid it.

"Hold on, Kiara, this'll do for 'em!" roared Mina, and I looked up just in time to see Mina slamming a thick finger into a green button near the fuel gauge.

A wall, a solid brick wall, erupted out of the exhaust pipe. Craning my neck, I saw it expand into being in mid-air. Three of the Love Destroyers swerved and avoided it, but the fourth was not so lucky: she vanished from view and then dropped like a boulder from behind it, her broomstick broken into pieces. One of her fellows slowed up to save her, but they and the airborne wall were swallowed by darkness as Mina leaned low over the handlebars and sped up.

More Killing Curses flew past my head from the two remaining Love Destroyers' wands; they were aiming for Mina. I responded with further Stunning Spells: red and green collided in mid-air in a shower of multi-coloured sparks and I thought wildly of fireworks, and the Muggles below who would have no idea what was happening -

"Here we go again, Kiara, hold on!" yelled Mina, and she jabbed at a second button. This time a great net burst from the bike's exhaust, but the Love Destroyers were ready for it. Not only did they swerve to avoid it, but the companion who had slowed to save their unconscious friend had caught up: she bloomed suddenly out of the darkness and now three of them were pursuing the motorbike, all shooting curses after it.

"This'll do it, Kiara, hold on tight!" yelled Mina, and I saw her slam her whole hand on to the purple button beside the speedometer.

With an unmistakable bellowing roar, dragon fire burst from the exhaust, white-hot and blue, and the motorbike shot forwards like a bullet with a sound of wrenching metal. I saw the Love Destroyers swerve out of sight to avoid the deadly trail of flame, and at the same time I felt the sidecar sway ominously; its metal connections to the bike had splintered with the force of acceleration.

"It's all righ', Kiara!" bellowed Mina, now thrown flat on to her back by the surge of speed; nobody was steering now, and the sidecar was starting to twist violently in the bike's slipstream.

"I'm on it, Kiara, don' worry!" Mina yelled, and from inside her jacket pocket she pulled her flowery pink umbrella.

"Mina! No! Let me!"

"REPARO!"

There was a deafening bang and the sidecar broke away from the bike completely: I sped forwards, propelled by the impetus of the bike's flight, then the sidecar began to lose height -

In desperation I pointed my wand at the sidecar and shouted, _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The sidecar rose like a cork, unsteerable but at least still airborne: I had but a split second's relief, however, as more curses streaked past me: the three Love Destroyers were closing in.

"I'm comin', Kiara!" Mina yelled out of the darkness, but I could feel the sidecar beginning to sink again: crouching as low as I could, I pointed at the middle of the oncoming figures and yelled, _"Impedimenta!"_

The jinx hit the middle Love Destroyer in the chest: for a moment the woman was absurdly spread-eagled in mid-air as though she had hit an invisible barrier: one of her fellows almost collided with her -

Then the sidecar began to fall in earnest, and the remaining Love Destroyer shot a curse so close to me that I had to duck below the rim of the car, knocking out a tooth on the edge of my seat -

"I'm comin', Kiara, I'm comin'!"

A huge hand seized the back of my robes and hoisted me out of the plummeting sidecar; I pulled my rucksack and extra bag with me as I dragged myself on to the motorbike's seat and found myself back to back with Mina. As we soared upwards, away from the two remaining Love Destroyers, I spat blood out of my mouth, pointed my wand at the falling sidecar and yelled, _"Confringo!"_

I would buy a new cage for Harold, I promised myself this as the sidecar exploded; the Love Destroyer nearest it was blasted off her broom and fell from sight; her companion fell back and vanished.

"Kiara, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," moaned Mina, "I shouldn'ta tried ter repair it meself - yeh've got no room - "

"It's not a problem, just keep flying!" I shouted back, as two more Love Destroyers emerged out of the darkness, drawing closer.

As the curses came shooting across the intervening space again, Mina swerved and zigzagged: I knew that Mina did not dare use the dragon-fire button again, not with me seated so insecurely. I sent Stunning Spell after Stunning Spell back at our pursuers, barely holding them off. I shot another blocking jinx at them: the closest Love Destroyer swerved to avoid it and her hood slipped, and as I sent another Stunning Spell at them, a flash of white swept past me, swiping its wings on the hooded Love Destroyer, who ducked to avoid it -

It was Harold, coming to protect me: I saw him trying to scratch at the Love Destroyers, and after a couple of circles around the two, he caught the unhooded Love Destroyer, his talons sinking deep into the skin on her cheek so that the blood came gushing out, flying behind her like a waterfall of blood as she screamed in pain -

Then, before I could do anything, before I could stop it, the hooded Love Destroyer sent a jet of green light straight at Harold, which struck him straight in the chest; Harold screeched before he started to fall, his wings all over the place as he fell.

"NO - NO, HAROLD! NO!" I yelled, watching my beloved owl, my dear friend, fall from the sky, watching him as he became a small white speck -

"That's her, it's her, it's the real one!"

The hooded Love Destroyer's shout reached me through my shock and above the thunder of the motorbike's engine: next moment, both pursuers had fallen back and disappeared from view.

"Kiara, what's happened?" bellowed Mina. "Where've they gone?"

"I don't know!" I shouted through numb lips.

But I was afraid: the hooded Love Destroyer had shouted "it's the real one"; how had she known? I gazed around at the apparently empty darkness and felt its menace. Where were they?

I clambered round on the seat to face forwards and seized hold of the back of Mina's jacket.

"Mina, do the dragon fire thing again, let's get out of here!"

"Hold on tight, then, Kiara!"

There was a deafening screeching roar again and the white-blue fire shot from the exhaust: I felt myself slipping backwards off what little of the seat I had, Mina flying backwards upon me, barely maintaining her grip on the handlebars -

"I think we lost 'em, Kiara, I think we've done it!" yelled Mina.

But I was not convinced: fear lapped at me as I looked left and right for pursuers I was sure would come ... why had they fallen back? One of them had still had a wand ... _It's her, it's the real one_ ... they had said it right after I had screamed Harold's name ...

"We're nearly there, Kiara, we've nearly made it!" shouted Mina.

I felt the bike drop a little, though the lights on the ground still seemed remote as stars.

Then the scar on my forehead burned like fire: as a Love Destroyer appeared on either side of the bike, two Killing Curses missed me by millimetres, cast from behind -

And then I saw her. Zira was flying like smoke on the wind, without broomstick or Thestral to hold her, her snakelike face gleaming out of the blackness, her white fingers raising her wand again -

Mina let out a bellow of fear and steered the motorbike into a vertical dive. Clinging on for dear life, I sent Stunning Spells flying at random into the whirling night. I saw a body fly past me and I knew I had hit one of them, but then I heard a bang and saw sparks from the engine; the motorbike spiralled through the air, completely out of control -

Green jets of light shot past us again. I had no idea which way was up, which down: my scar was still burning; I expected to die at any second. A hooded figure on a broomstick was feet from me, I saw it raise its arm -

"NO!"

With a shout of fury, Mina launched herself off the bike at the Love Destroyer; to my horror, I saw both Mina and the Love Destroyer falling out of sight, their combined weight too much for the broomstick -

Barely gripping the plummeting bike with my knees, I heard Zira scream, _"Mine!"_

It was over: I could not see or hear where Zira was; I glimpsed another Love Destroyer swooping out of the way and heard, _"Avada - "_

As the pain from my scar forced my eyes shut, my wand acted of its own accord. I felt it drag my hand round like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire through my half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury. The remaining Love Destroyer yelled; Zira screamed, _"No!"_ : somehow, I found my nose an inch from the dragon-fire button: I punched it with my hand and the bike shot more flames into the air, hurtling straight towards the ground.

"Mina!" I called, holding on to the bike for dear life. "Mina - _accio Mina_!"

The motorbike sped up, sucked towards the earth. Face level with the handlebars, I could see nothing but distant lights growing nearer and nearer: I was going to crash and there was nothing I could do about it. Behind me came another scream -

 _"Your wand, Sanchez, give me your wand!"_

I felt Zira before I saw her. Looking sideways, I stared into the red eyes and I was sure they would be the last thing I ever saw: Zira preparing to curse me once more -

And then Zira vanished. I looked down and saw Mina spread-eagled on the ground below me: I pulled hard at the handlebars to avoid hitting her, groped for the brake, but with an ear-splitting, ground-trembling crash, I smashed into a muddy pond.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6**

 **Fallen Warrior**

 **KIARA**

"Mina?"

I struggled to raise myself out of the debris of metal and leather that surrounded me; my hands sank into inches of muddy water as I tried to stand. I could not understand where Zira had gone and I expected her to swoop out of the darkness at any moment. Something hot and wet was trickling down my chin and from my forehead. I crawled out of the pond and stumbled towards the great, dark mass on the ground that was Mina.

"Mina? Mina, talk to me - "

But the dark mass did not stir.

"Who's there? Is that Pride-Lander? Are you Kiara Pride-Lander?"

I did not recognise the man's voice. Then a woman shouted, "They've crashed, Tim! Crashed in the garden!"

My head was swimming.

"Mina," I repeated stupidly, and my knees buckled.

The next thing I knew, I was lying on my back on what felt like cushions, with a burning sensation in my ribs and right arm. My missing tooth had been regrown. The scar on my forehead was still throbbing.

"Mina?"

I opened my eyes and saw that I was lying on a sofa in an unfamiliar, lamplit sitting room. My rucksack and extra bag lay on the floor a short distance away, both wet and muddy. A fair-haired, big-bellied man was watching me anxiously.

"Mina's fine, love," said the man, "the wife's seeing to her now. How are you feeling? Anything else broken? I've fixed your ribs, your tooth and your arm. I'm Tim, by the way, Tim Todd - Nan's father."

I sat up too quickly: lights popped in front of my eyes and I felt sick and giddy.

"Zira - "

"Easy, now," said Tim Todd, placing a hand on my shoulder and pushing me back against the cushions. "That was a nasty crash you just had. What happened, anyway? Something go wrong with the bike? Matthew Dawson overstretch himself again, him and his Muggle contraptions?"

"No," I said, as my scar pulsed like an open wound. "Love Destroyers, loads of them - we were chased - "

"Love Destroyers?" said Tim sharply. "What d'you mean, Love Destroyers? I thought they didn't know you were being moved tonight. I thought - "

"They knew," I said.

Tim Todd looked up at the ceiling as though he could see through it to the sky above.

"Well, we know our protective charms hold, then, don't we? They shouldn't be able to get within a hundred yards of the place in any direction."

Now I understood why Zira had vanished; it had been at the point when the motorbike crossed the barrier of the Order's charms. I only hoped they would continue to work: I imagined Zira, a hundred yards above us as we spoke, looking for a way to penetrate what I visualised as a great, transparent bubble.

I swung my legs off the sofa; I needed to see Mina with my own eyes before I would believe she was alive. I had barely stood up, however, when a door opened and Mina squeezed through it, her face covered in mud and blood, limping a little but miraculously alive.

"Kiara!"

Knocking over two delicate tables and a aspidistra, she covered the floor between us in two strides and pulled me into a hug that nearly cracked my newly repaired ribs. "Blimey, Kiara, how did yeh get out o' that? I thought we were both goners."

"Yeah, me too. I can't believe - "

I broke off: I had just noticed the woman who had entered the room behind Mina.

"You!" I shouted, and I thrust my hand into my pocket, but it was empty.

"Your wand's here, love," said Tim, tapping it on my arm. "It fell right beside you, I picked it up. And that's my wife you're shouting at."

"Oh, I'm - I'm sorry."

As she moved forwards into the room, Mrs Todd's resemblance to her sister Katalina became much less pronounced: her hair was auburn and her eyes were wider and kinder. Nevertheless, she looked a little haughty after my exclamation.

"What happened to our daughter?" she asked. "Mina said you were ambushed; where is Nana?"

"I don't know," I said. "We don't know what happened to anyone else."

She and Tim exchanged looks. A mixture of fear and guilt gripped me at the sight of their expressions; if any of the others had died, it was my fault, all my fault. I had consented to the plan, given them my hair ...

"The Portkey," I said, remembering all of a sudden. "We've got to get back to Dawson Manor and find out - then we'll be able to send you word, or - or Todd will, once she's - "

"Nan'll be OK, Aberash," said Tim. "She knows her stuff, she's been in plenty of tight spots with the Aurors. The Portkey's through here," he added to me. "It's supposed to leave in three minutes, if you want to take it."

"Yeah, we do," I said. I seized my rucksack, swung it on to my shoulders and picked up the extra bag. "I - "

I looked at Mrs Todd, wanting to apologise for the state of fear in which I left her and which I felt so terribly responsible, but no words occurred to me that did not seem hollow and insincere.

"I'll tell Todd - Nan - to send word, when she ... thanks for patching us up, thanks for everything. I - "

I was glad to leave the room and follow Tim Todd along a short hallway and into a bedroom. Mina came after us, bending low to avoid hitting her head on the door lintel.

"There you go, love. That's the Portkey."

Mr Todd was pointing to a small, silver-backed hairbrush lying on the dressing table.

"Thanks," I said, reaching out to place a finger on it, ready to leave.

"Wait a moment," said Mina, looking around. "Kiara, where's Harold's cage? Wha' happened ter him ter make yeh lose it?"

"He ... he got hit. I watched him fall," I said.

The realisation crashed over me: I felt ashamed of myself as the tears stung my eyes. The owl had been my friend, my companion, my link with the wizarding world whenever I had to return to my grandmothers' cottage.

Mina reached out a great hand and patted me painfully on the shoulder.

"Never mind," she said gruffly. "Never mind. He had a great old life - "

"Mina!" said Tim Todd warningly, as the hairbrush glowed bright blue, and Mina only just got her forefinger to it in time.

With a jerk behind the navel as though an invisible hook and line had dragged me forwards, I was pulled into nothingness, spinning uncontrollably, my finger glued to the Portkey as Mina and I hurtled away from Mr Todd: seconds later my feet slammed on to hard ground and I fell on my hands and knees in the back garden of Dawson Manor, in front of the back door to the kitchen. I heard screams. Throwing aside the no longer glowing hairbrush, I stood up, swaying slightly, and I saw my parents and Chris running down the steps by the back door as Mina, who had also collapsed on landing, clambered laboriously to her feet, as my parents rushed over to embrace me. After about a minute they let go of me.

"Kiara? You are the real Kiara?" Mum cried, touching my face and my hair. "What happened? Where are the others?"

"What d'you mean? Isn't anyone else back?" I panted.

The answer was clearly etched in my parents' pale faces.

"The Love Destroyers were waiting for us," I told them. "We were surrounded the moment we took off - they knew it was tonight - I don't know what happened to anyone else. Four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Zira caught up with us - "

I could hear the self-justifying note in my voice, the plea for my parents to understand why I did not know what happened to the others, but -

"Thank goodness you're all right," said my father, he and Mum pulling me into another hug I did not feel I deserved.

"D'yeh know if there's any brandy in there, Nala?" said Mina shakily. "Fer medicinal purposes?"

My parents let go of me, and instead of Mum just going back inside the grand house on her own, my father followed her in. I turned to Chris then, who stepped closer to me. In that moment, I forgot I had broken up with him, I forgot my anxiety about how we would act around each other, I even forgot that Mina was there. All I could think of was that I needed to feel the warmth and comfort of the boy I loved. So I rushed at him and flung my arms around him, holding him just as tightly as he held me, my arms around his neck, one of his arms wrapped around my waist, the other in my hair. After several long moments we let go of each other and Chris answered my unspoken plea for information at once.

"Chrissie and Todd should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it came back without them," he said, pointing at a rusty oilcan lying on the ground nearby. "And that one," he pointed at an ancient plimsoll, "should have been Dad and Tanya's, they were supposed to be second. You and Mina were third and," he checked his watch, "if they made it, Geri and Meers ought to have been back in about a minute."

My parents reappeared with my mother carrying a bottle of brandy, which she handed to Mina. She uncorked it and drank it straight down in one.

"Simba!" shouted Chris, pointing to a spot several feet away.

A blue light had appeared in the darkness: it grew larger and brighter, and Meers and Geri appeared, spinning and then falling. I knew immediately that there was something wrong: Meers was supporting Geri, who was unconscious and whose face was covered in blood.

My father ran forwards and lifted Geri into his arms, carrying her into the house bridal style. He carried her through the kitchen, down the ancestry corridor, along the front of the house, turned a corner, walked halfway down that corridor and entered the spacious drawing room where the Dawsons were all seated, tense. They jumped up as soon as they saw us and Kestrel, Merida and Dave moved away from the sofa as soon as they saw Geri in my father's arms, Merida, readjusting her hold on my baby brother, Kion. My father lay her down, and as my father stepped back, I heard many gasps as my stomach lurched: one of Geri's ears was missing. The side of her head and neck were drenched in wet, shockingly scarlet blood.

No sooner had my mother bent over Geri than Meers grabbed me by the upper arm and dragged me, none too gently, all the way back to the kitchen, where Mina was still attempting to ease her bulk through the back door.

"Oi!" said Mina indignantly. "Le' go of her! Le' go of Kiara!"

"Timon, just what do you think you are doing with my daughter?" thundered my father.

But Meers ignored them both.

"What creature sat in the corner, the first time that Kiara Pride-Lander visited my office at Dragon Mort?" he said, giving me a small shake. "Answer me!"

"A - a Grindylow in a tank, wasn't it?"

Meers released me and fell back against a kitchen cupboard.

"Wha' was tha' about?" roared Mina, as my father came up to me and wrapped his arms around me.

"I'm sorry, Kiara, but I have to check," said Meers tersely. "We've been betrayed. Zira knew that you were being moved tonight and the only people who could have told her were directly involved in the plan. You might have been an impostor."

"So why aren' you checkin' me?" panted Mina, still struggling to fit through the door."

"You're half-giant," said Meers, looking up at Mina. "The Polyjuice Potion is designed for human use only."

"None of the Order would have told Zira we were moving tonight," I said: the idea was dreadful to me, I could not believe it of any of them. "Zira only caught up with me towards the end, she didn't know which one I was in the beginning. If she'd been in on the plan, she'd have known from the start I was the one with Mina."

"Zira caught up with you?" said Meers sharply, as my father held me tighter. "What happened? How did you escape?"

I explained, briefly, how the Love Destroyers pursuing us had seemed to recognise me as the true Kiara, how they had abandoned the chase, how they must have summoned Zira, who had appeared just before Mina and I had reached the sanctuary of Todd's parents'.

"They recognised you? But how? What had you done?"

"I ..." I tried to remember; the whole journey seemed like a blur of panic and confusion. "I saw Harold ... he took a few swipes at the Love Destroyers, and one of them struck ..." I was finding it really hard to talk by this point. "He fell. I screamed his name as I watched him fall - I couldn't help it! - but ... there was nothing I could do."

My father said nothing but rubbed my back comfortingly, while Meers stood there, looking aghast.

"Kiara, I understand that seeing your beloved pet being killed in front of you is hard, but it was foolish of you to scream his name aloud to people who were looking for you and were trying to capture and kill the real you!"

"So what was I supposed to do, turn my head in the opposite direction and not care about him dying? Do you want me to become heartless, is that what you're saying?" I asked defiantly; just because he didn't care that Harold had died did not mean that I didn't.

"Of course not, Kiara," said Meers with a great deal of restraint, "but as Grumpy said earlier, Triphorm told Zira and the Love Destroyers all about you. You should have acted as if you hadn't known the owl when you saw him and let out your anger and your hurt when you arrived at Todd's parents' house or here. Also, letting those two Love Destroyers fly away without aiming a curse at them was a very unwise move on your part, Kiara. You could have at least tried to Stun them, if not something more powerful!"

"So you think I should have killed those Love Destroyers?" I said angrily.

"Of course not," said Meers, "but the Love Destroyers - frankly, most people! - would have expected you to attack back! Yes, Harold was there to help you, but he's gone now, Kiara, and you must do better at fighting your battles! It's a kill or be killed world out there now, kid! You have to be more careful!"

Meers was making me feel idiotic, and yet there was still a grain of defiance inside me.

"I'm not as heartless as Zira to not show that I don't care for my friends, human or otherwise," I said. "And I won't blast people out of my way just because they're there. That's Zira's job."

Meers' retort was lost: finally succeeding in squeezing through the door, Mina staggered to a chair and sat down; it collapsed beneath her. Ignoring her mingled oaths and apologies, I addressed Meers again.

"Will Geri be OK?"

All Meers' frustration with me seemed to drain away at the question.

"I think so, although there's no chance of replacing her ear, not when it's been cursed off - "

There was a scuffling from outside. Meers dived for the back door; my father and I let go of each other, jumped over Mina's legs and sprinted into the garden.

Two figures had appeared in the garden and as I ran towards them I realised they were Sian, now returning to her normal appearance, and Kara, both clutching a bent coat hanger. Sian flung herself into my arms, but Kara showed no pleasure at the sign of any of us. Over Sian's shoulder I saw her raise her wand and point it at Meers' chest.

"The last words Susan Crighton spoke to the pair of us?"

 _"'Kiara is the best hope we have. Trust her,'"_ said Meers calmly.

Kara turned her wand on me, but Meers said, "It's her, I've checked.

"All right, all right," said Kara, stowing her wand back beneath her cloak. "But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!"

"So it seems," replied Meers, "but apparently they did not realise that there would be seven Kiaras."

"Small comfort!" snarled Kara. "Who else is back?"

"Only Kiara, Mina, Geri and me."

Sian stifled a little moan behind her hand.

"What happened to you?" Meers asked Kara.

"Followed by five, injured two, might've killed one," Kara reeled off, "and we saw She-You-Know as well, she joined the chase halfway through, but vanished pretty quickly. Timon, she can - "

"Fly," I supplied. "I saw her too, she came after Mina and me."

"So that's why she left - to follow you!" said Kara. "I couldn't understand why she'd vanished. But what made her change targets?"

"Kiara noticed her owl attacking one of Zira's latest recruits," said Meers.

"One of Zira's latest recruits?" repeated Sian. "But I thought those who're Imperiused or follow Zira of their own free will were still in Azkaban?"

Kara let out a mirthless laugh.

"Sian, there's obviously been a mass breakout which the Ministry has hushed up. Thorn's hood fell off when I cursed her, she's supposed to be inside too. But what happened to you, Timon? Where's Geri?"

"She's lost an ear," said Meers.

"Lost an - ?" repeated Sian in a high voice.

"Triphorm's work," said Meers.

 _"Triphorm?"_ I shouted. "You didn't say - "

"She lost her hood during the chase. _Sectumsempra_ was always a speciality of Triphorm's. I wish I could say I paid her back in kind, but it was all I could do to keep Geri on the broom after she was injured, she was losing so much blood."

Silence fell between the four of us as we looked up at the sky. There was no sign of movement; the stars stared back, unblinking, indifferent, unobscured by flying friends. Where were Tanya and Mr Dawson? Where were Sam, Ferdinand, Todd, Crazy-Head and Mona?

"Kiara, give us a hand!" called Mina hoarsely from the door, in which she was stuck again. Glad of something to do, I pulled her free, then headed back through the empty kitchen all the way back to the drawing room, Sian right behind me, where my mother, Chris and the rest of the Dawsons were still tending to Geri. Noticing Sian, Kopa rushed to her and gathered her in his arms, spinning her around; the rest of the Dawsons, realising Sian was there, ran to her, and Sian, letting go of Kopa, hugged each of her siblings in turn, reassuring them that she was alive and safe. Meanwhile, I moved over to the sofa where Geri lay, and I could see that my mother had staunched her bleeding now, and by the lamplight I saw a clean, gaping hole where Geri's ear had been.

"How is she?"

Mum looked round and said, "Wounds made by Dark Magic can never be properly healed, I'm afraid to say. But it could have been so much worse ... she's alive."

"Yeah," I said. "Thank God."

"I'm glad to see you back safe, Sian," said Chris, hugging her.

"Thanks, Chris. So am I," said Sian, letting her brother go. As Sian moved to Geri's side, Chris and I looked at each other; I wanted to hug him, hold on to him; I did not even care much that my parents, Kopa and the Dawsons were there, but before I could act on the impulse there came a shout from outside the door.

"Timon, I'll prove to you and Kara who I am once I've seen my niece, now back off if you know what's good for you!"

I had never heard Mr Dawson shout like that before. He stormed into the room, his face red and glistening with sweat, Tanya right behind him, pale but injured. As soon as he saw Sian, Mr Dawson strode across the room and held his dearest firstborn tightly.

"Dad! Thank goodness!" Sian sighed in relief.

"How is she?"

Mr Dawson dropped to his knees beside Geri as Sian stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder, which he grasped like a lifeline. For the first time since I had known her, Tanya seemed to be lost for words. She gaped over the back of the sofa at her twin's wound as if she could not believe what she was seeing.

Perhaps roused by the sound of Tanya and her uncle's arrival, Geri stirred.

"How do you feel, Ger?" whispered Sian.

Geri's fingers groped for the side of her neck.

"Saint-like," she murmured.

"What's wrong with her?" croaked Tanya, looking terrified. "is her mind affected?"

"Saint-like," repeated Geri, opening her eyes and looking up at her sister. "You see ... I'm holy. _Holey_ , Tanya, geddit?"

Sian released a breathy chuckle. Colour flooded Tanya's pale face.

"Pathetic," she told Geri. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for _holey_?"

"Ah well," said Geri, grinning at a pale-faced Sian. "You'll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Sian."

She looked round.

"Hi Kiara - you are Kiara, right?"

"Yeah, I am," I said, moving closer to the sofa.

"Well, at least we got you back OK," said Geri. "Why aren't Chrissie and Sam huddled round my sickbed?"

"They're not back yet, Geri," said Sian. Geri's grin faded. I glanced at both Chris and Sian and motioned to them to accompany me back outside. As we were walking through the kitchen, Chris said in a low voice, "Chrissie and Todd should be back by now. They didn't have a long journey; Great-Aunt Lizzie's is not that far from here."

I said nothing. I had been trying to keep my fear at bay ever since reaching Dawson Manor, but now it enveloped me, seeming to crawl over my skin, throbbing in my chest, clogging my throat. As we walked down the back steps into the dark garden, Chris took my hand.

Kara was striding backwards and forwards, glancing up at the sky every time she turned. Mina and Meers, now joined by Sian, stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing upwards in silence. None of them looked round when Chris and I joined their silent vigil.

The minutes stretched into what might as well have been years. The slightest breath of wind made us all jump and turn towards the whispering bush or tree in the hopes that one of the missing Order members might leap unscathed from its leaves -

And then a broom materialised directly above us and streaked towards the ground -

"It's them!" screamed Sian.

Todd landed in a long skid that sent earth everywhere.

"Timon!" Todd cried as she staggered off the broom into Meers' arms. His face was set and white: he seemed unable to speak. Chrissie tripped dazedly towards Chris, Sian and I.

"You're OK," she mumbled, before Sian flew at her and hugged her tightly.

"I thought - I thought - "

"'M all right," said Chrissie, hugging her sister back. "'M fine."

"Chrissie was great," said Todd warmly, relinquishing her hold on Meers. "Wonderful. Stunned one of the Love Destroyers, straight to the head, and when you're aiming at a moving target from a flying broom - "

"You did?" said Sian, gazing at Chrissie with her arms still around her.

"Always the tone of surprise," said Chrissie a little grumpily, letting go of Sian to hug Chris.

"That you are, Chrissie," he said. "Nice one."

"Thanks, Chris," said Chrissie. "Are we the last back?"

"No," said Chris, "we're still waiting for Ferdinand and Sam and Crazy-Head and Mona. I'm going to tell Dad and the others you're OK, Chrissie - "

He ran back inside.

"So what kept you? What happened?" Meers sounded almost angry with Todd.

"Katalina," said Todd. "She wants me quite as much as she wants Kiara, Timon, she tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I'd got her, I owe Katalina. But we definitely injured Nuka ... then we got to Chrissie's Great-Aunt Elizabeth's and we'd missed our Portkey and she was fussing over us - "

A muscle was jumping in Meers' jaw. He nodded, but seemed unable to say anything else.

"So what happened to you lot?" Todd asked, turning to Sian, Kara and I.

We recounted our stories of our own journeys, but all the time the continued absence of Sam, Ferdinand, Crazy-Head and Mona seemed to lie upon us like a frost, its icy bite harder and harder to ignore.

"I'm going to have to go back to Downing Street. I should have been there an hour ago," said Kara finally, after a last sweeping gaze at the sky. "Let me know when they're back."

Meers nodded. With a wave to the rest of us, Kara walked away into the darkness towards the gate. I thought I heard the faintest _pop_ as Kara Disapparated just beyond Dawson Manor's boundaries.

Mr Dawson came running down the back steps, Chris behind him. Mr Dawson hugged Chrissie before he and Sian turned to Meers and Todd.

"Thank you," said Sian, "for my cousin and my sister."

"Don't be silly, Sian," said Todd at once.

"How's Geri?" asked Meers.

"What's wrong with her?" piped up Chrissie.

"She's lost - "

But the end of Sian's sentence was drowned in a general outcry: a Thestral had just soared into sight and landed a few feet from us. Sam and Ferdinand slid from its back, windswept but unhurt.

"Sam! Thank God, thank God - "

Sian rushed to her, but the hug Sam bestowed upon her was perfunctory. Looking directly at her uncle, she said, "Crazy-Head's dead."

Nobody spoke, nobody moved. I felt as though something inside me was falling, falling through the earth, leaving me forever.

"We saw it," said Sam; Ferdinand nodded, his head bowed sadly. "It happened just after we broke out of the circle: Crazy-Head and Mona were close by us, they were heading north too. Zira - she can fly - went straight for them. Mona panicked, I saw her cry out, Crazy-Head tried to stop her, but she Disapparated. Zira's curse hit Crazy-Head full in the face, she fell backwards off her broom and - there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail - "

Sam's voice broke.

"Of course you couldn't have done anything," said Meers.

We all stood looking at each other. I could not quite comprehend it. Crazy-Head dead; it could not be ... Crazy-Head, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor ...

At last it seemed to dawn on everyone, though none of us said it, that there was no point waiting in the garden any more, and in silence we followed Mr Dawson and Sian back into Dawson Manor, and all the way to the drawing room, where Tanya and Geri were making themselves and everyone else in the room laugh.

"What's wrong?" said my father, scanning our faces as we entered. "What's happened? Who's - ?"

"Crazy-Head," said Mr Dawson. "Dead."

The twins' grins turned to grimaces of shock and the laughter immediately died. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Todd was crying silently into a handkerchief: she had been close to Crazy-Head, I knew, her favourite and her protégée at the Ministry of Magic. Mina, who had followed us inside, had sat down on the floor in the corner where she had most space, was dabbing at her eyes with her tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

Sam walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Firewhisky and several glasses, Ferdinand helping her.

"Here," she said, and with a wave of her wand she sent twenty-one full glasses soaring through the room to each of us, holding the twenty-second aloft. "Crazy-Head."

"Crazy-Head," we all said, and drank.

"Crazy-Head," echoed Mina, a little late, with a hiccough.

The Firewhisky seared my throat: it seemed to burn feeling back into me, dispelling the numbness and sense of unreality, firing me with something that was like courage.

"So Mona disappeared?" said Meers, who had drained his own glass in one.

The atmosphere changed at once: everybody looked tense, watching Meers, both wanting him to go on, it seemed to me, and slightly afraid of what we might hear.

"I know what you're thinking," said Sam, "and I wondered that too, on the way back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn't they? But Mona can't have betrayed us. They didn't know there would be seven Kiaras, that confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you've forgotten, it was Mona who suggested that little bit of skulduggery. Why wouldn't she have told them the essential point? I think Mona panicked, it's as simple as that. She didn't want to come in the first place, but Crazy-Head made her, and She-You-Know went straight for them: it was enough to make anyone panic."

"She-You-Know acted exactly as Crazy-Head expected her to," sniffed Todd. "Crazy-Head said she'd expect the real Kiara to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. She chased Crazy-Head first, and when Mona gave them away, she switched to Kara."

"Yes, and zat eez all very good," snapped Ferdinand, "but still eet does not explain 'ow zey knew we were moving Kiara tonight, does eet? Somebody must 'ave been careless. Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. Eet eez ze only explanation for zem knowing ze date but not ze 'ole plan."

He glared around at us all, silently daring any of us to contradict him. Nobody did. The only sound to break the silence was that of Mina hiccoughing from behind her handkerchief. I glanced at Mina, who had just risked her life to save mine - Mina, whom I loved, whom I trusted, who had once been tricked into giving Zira crucial information in exchange for a dragon's egg ...

"No," I said aloud, and they all looked at me, surprised: the Firewhisky seemed to have amplified my voice. "I mean ... if somebody made a mistake," I went on, "and let something slip, I know they didn't mean to do it. It's not their fault," I repeated, again a little louder than I would usually have spoken. "We've got to trust each other. I trust all of you, I don't think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Zira."

More silence followed my words. They were all looking at me; I felt a little hot again, and drank some more Firewhisky for something to do. As I drank, I thought of Crazy-Head. Crazy-Head had always been scathing about Crighton's willingness to trust people.

"Well said, Kiara," said Tanya unexpectedly.

"Yeah, 'ear, 'ear," said Geri, with half a glance at Tanya, the corner of whose mouth twitched.

Meers was wearing an odd expression as he looked at me: it was close to pitying.

"You think I'm a fool?" I demanded.

"No, he doesn't," Mum answered for him. I looked at her; she was smiling slightly at me. "You know, Kiara, every now and again you remind me of myself, for even I would mark it as the height of dishonour to mistrust my friends."

I knew what my mother was getting at: that she had been betrayed by her friends, the Absters. I felt irrationally angry. I wanted to argue, but as I looked at my father, my anger faded, for he was smiling proudly at me.

"What?" I asked him.

"You're right, Kiara," he said, putting down his glass and walking over to me. He put his hands on my shoulders, looking right into my eyes and said, "Trust is something that can be easily made, and just as easily broken, so therefore we must not take it for granted. We all have to rely on each other if we want to make it through this. You've reminded us, yet again, Kiara, just what's at stake here." My father then kissed my forehead, and I didn't know whether to be comforted or feel guilty by his words.

We were then brought back into the room by Meers, who had set his glass down upon a side table and now addressed Sam, "There's work to be done. I can ask Kara whether - "

"No," said Sam at once, "I'll do it, I'll come."

"Where are you going?" said Todd and Ferdinand together.

"Crazy-Head's body," said Meers. "We need to recover it."

"Can't it - ?" began Sian, with an appealing look at Sam.

"Wait?" said Sam. "Not unless you'd rather the Love Destroyers took it?"

Nobody spoke. Meers and Sam said goodbye and left.

The rest of them now dropped into chairs, all except for me, as I remained standing. The suddenness and completeness of death was with us like a presence.

"I've got to go, too," I said.

Nineteen pairs of startled eyes looked at me.

"You're not going anywhere," my father said forcefully. "Not tonight!"

"But Daddy, I can't stay here."

I rubbed my forehead: it was prickling again; it had not hurt like this for more than a year.

"You're all in danger while I'm here. I don't want - "

"Kiara, don't be so silly!" said Sian. "The whole point of tonight was to get you here safely, and thank goodness it worked. We risked a lot getting you here, Kiara; surely Crazy-Head is proof of that? Besides, your parents and little brother are here, you can't just up and leave them and the rest of us tonight just because you feel guilty. And Ferdinand's arranged to get married here rather than in France, we've arranged everything so that we can all stay together and look after you - "

She did not understand; she was making me feel worse, not better.

"If Zira finds out I'm here - "

"But why should she?" asked Mum.

"There are a dozen places you might be now, Kiara," said Mr Dawson. "She's got no way of knowing which safe house you're in."

"It's not me I'm worried for!" I said.

"We know that," said my father quietly, "but Sian is right; it would make our efforts seem rather pointless if you left."

"Yer not goin' anywhere," growled Mina. "Blimey, Kiara, after all we went through ter get you here?"

"Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?" said Geri, hoisting herself up on her cushions.

"I know that - "

"Crazy-Head wouldn't want - "

"I KNOW!" I bellowed.

I felt beleaguered and blackmailed: did they not think I did not know what they had done for me, didn't they understand that it was for precisely that reason that I wanted to go now, before they had to suffer any more on my behalf? There was a long and awkward silence in which my scar continued to throb, and which was broken at last by Sian.

"Where's Harold, Kiara?" she said coaxingly. "We can put him up with Piggledon and Cattonia and give him something to eat."

My insides clenched like a fist. I could not tell her the truth. I drank the last of my Firewhisky to avoid answering.

"Wait 'til it gets out yeh did it again, Kiara," said Mina. "Escaped her, fought her off when she was right on top of yeh!"

"It wasn't me," I said flatly. "It was my wand. My wand acted of its own accord."

After a few moments, Sian said gently, "But that's impossible, Kiara. You mean that you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively."

"No," I said. "The bike was falling. I couldn't have told you where Zira was, but my wand spun in my hand and found her and shot a spell at her, and it wasn't even a spell I recognised. I've never made gold flames appear before."

"Often," said Mr Dawson, "when you're in a pressured situation you can produce magic you've never dreamed of. Small children often find, before they're trained - "

"It wasn't like that," I said through gritted teeth. My scar was burning: I felt angry and frustrated; I hated the idea that they were all imagining me to have power to match Zira's.

No one said anything. I knew that they did not believe me. Now that I came to think of it, I had never heard of a wand performing magic on its own before.

My scar seared with pain; it was all I could do not to moan aloud. Muttering about fresh air, I set down my glass and left the room.

As I walked into the dark back garden, the great, skeletal Thestral looked up, rustled its enormous bat-like wings, then resumed its grazing. I stopped before the dark wood surrounding the grand house, staring into the dark trees, rubbing my pounding forehead and thinking of Crighton.

Crighton would have believed me, I knew it. Crighton would have known how and why my wand had acted independently, because Crighton always had the answers; she had known about wands, had explained to me the strange connection between my wand and Zira's ... but Crighton, like Crazy-Head, like Pumbaa, like my grandfather, like my poor owl, all were gone where I could never talk to them again. I felt a burning in my throat that had nothing to do with Firewhisky ...

And then, out of nowhere, the pain in my scar peaked. As I clutched my forehead and closed my eyes, a voice screamed inside my head.

 _"You told me the problem would be solved by using another's wand!"_

And into my mind burst the vision of an emaciated old woman lying in rags upon a stone floor, screaming, a horrible, drawn-out scream, a scream of unendurable agony ...

"No! No! I beg you, I beg you ..."

"You lied to Lady Zira, Wandwick!"

"I did not ... I swear I did not ..."

"You sought to help Pride-Lander, to help her escape me!"

"I swear I did not ... I believed a different wand would work ..."

"Explain, then, what happened. Narissa's wand is destroyed!"

"I cannot understand ... the connection ... exists only ... between your two wands ..."

 _"Lies!"_

"Please ... I beg you ..."

And I saw the white hand raise its wand and felt Zira's surge of vicious anger, saw the frail old woman on the floor writhe in agony -

"Kiara?"

It was over as quickly as it had come: I stood shaking in the darkness, clutching on to a low-hanging branch from a nearby tree in the garden, my heart racing, my scar still tingling. It was several moments before I realised that Chris, Sian and Chrissie were at my side.

"Kiara, come back inside the house," Sian whispered. "You aren't still thinking of leaving, are you?"

"Yeah, you've got to stay," said Chrissie, putting an arm around me.

"Are you all right?" Chris asked, close enough now to look into my face. "You look awful!"

"Well," I said shakily, "I probably look better than Wandwick ..."

When I had finished telling them what I had seen, Chris' face had paled, Sian looked downright terrified and Chrissie looked appalled.

"But it was supposed to have stopped!" Sian cried. "You're scar - it wasn't supposed to do this any more! You mustn't let that connection open up again - Ma wanted you to close your mind!"

When I did not reply, she gripped my arm.

"Kiara, she's taking over the Ministry and the newspapers and half the wizarding world! Don't let her inside your head too!"

0000

Later that night, in my room at Dawson Manor, I thought back over the most important points of the day: saying goodbye to my grandmothers, aunt, uncle and cousin, the Order members turning up, the seven Kiaras, Harold dying, Zira turning up, the strange golden flames that shot out of my wand, Geri losing an ear, learning of Crazy-Head's death and Madam Wandwick being tortured. As the events of the night caught up with me, the weight of all that had happened finally stole over me, and at last, I allowed myself to cry. I cried for Harold, for Crazy-Head, for Timmy and for my grandmothers, who had taken our home with them.

Between my own sobs, a couple of doors down, I heard another girl crying harder and louder than I, but for different reasons, I imagined, as I cried myself off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: So, this is the last chapter I will be posting this year, as I like to take a break over the holidays. I will be posting a new chapter on the 3rd of January, so look out for that. So I hope that you enjoy this chapter, have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and I will be back on track with the story then, too!**

 **Chapter 7**

 **The A.I In Pyjamas**

 **KIARA**

The shock of losing Crazy-Head hung over the house in the days that followed; I kept expecting to see her stumping in through the main entrance or the kitchen door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news. I felt that nothing but action would assuage my feelings of guilt and grief and that I ought to set out on my mission to find and destroy Horcruxes as soon as possible.

"Well, you can't do anything about the - " Chrissie mouthed the word _Horcruxes_ , "'til you're seventeen. You've still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can't we? Or," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "d'you reckon you already know where the you-know-whats are?"

"No," I admitted.

"I think Sian's been doing a bit of research," said Chrissie. "Whenever I've seen her, she said she was saving it for when you got here."

We were sitting at the breakfast table; Mr Dawson and Sam had just left for work, Sian and my father had gone upstairs to wake the others, Mum had gone to the nursery to feed Kion, while Ferdinand had drifted off to take a bath.

"The Trace'll break on the thirtieth," I said. "That means I only need to stay here four days. Then I can - "

"Five days," Chrissie corrected me firmly. "We've got to stay for the wedding. She'll kill us if we miss it."

I understood "she" to mean Sam.

"It's only one extra day," said Chrissie, when I looked mutinous.

"Don't they realise how important - ?"

"'Course they don't," said Chrissie. "They haven't got a clue. And now you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that."

Chrissie glanced towards the door to check that Sian and my father - my father in particular - were not returning yet, then leaned in closer to me.

"Simba's been trying to get it out of Sian, Chris and me. What we're off to do. He'll try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and Meers've both asked as well, but when we said Ma told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not your father, though. He's determined."

Chrissie's prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, my father detached me from the others by telling me that he and Mum wanted a word with me. Once I had followed them into the drawing room, closed the door and sat down opposite my mother, did my father, who was standing in front of the fireplace, start.

"Chris, Sian and Chrissie seem to think that the four of you are dropping out of Dragon Mort," he began in a light, casual tone.

"Oh," I said. "Well, yeah. We are."

My father scrutinised me carefully, as my mother looked at him, my little brother perched on her knee, as still and silent as Mum, sucking his thumb gently, as though he too could sense something important was happening.

"May I ask _why_ you are abandoning your education?" said my father.

"Well, Daddy, Crighton left me ... stuff to do," I mumbled. "Chris, Sian and Chrissie know about it, and they want to come too."

"What sort of 'stuff'?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy, I can't - "

"Well, frankly, I think your mother and I have a right to know, and I'm sure Matt would agree!" said my father. I had been afraid of the "concerned parent" attack. I forced myself to look directly into my father's eyes, the exact same shade of brown as Kion's. This did not help.

"Crighton didn't want anyone else to know, Daddy. I'm sorry. Chris, Sian and Chrissie don't have to come, it's their choice - "

"But why do you have to go, Kiara?" he snapped, dropping all pretence now. "You're barely of age, any of you! It's utter nonsense, if Crighton needed work doing, she had the whole Order at her command! Kiara, you must have misunderstood her. Probably she was telling you something she _wanted_ done, and you took it to mean that she wanted _you_ \- "

"I didn't misunderstand," I said flatly. "It's got to be me." My father huffed in disbelief, so I said, "Listen, Daddy, I know that you're scared. Who isn't? But you're forgetting that I'm not a little girl any more. Yes, I know that you are my father and my protector, but even you cannot protect me forever." My father looked astounded and angry, and I went on before he could interrupt me, "You know that Zira marked me, Daddy, and I think that, deep down, you know this is going to end as much as I do, don't you? Question is, are you going to be brave enough to let me go?"

I looked at my father imploringly, willing him to see that I was being honest and that I was doing the right thing. My father stared at me for a moment, his face blank, before he turned to my mother and said, "Nala, what do you think?"

Mum looked at us both closely for a few seconds, before she spoke, choosing her words carefully, "I think ... that we must trust in our daughter, Simba. We all know that she is the only one who can finish Zira. The best we can do is to hope and pray for a better future in which we can be together as a family."

My father nodded at her slowly, taking in everything my mother said, then turned to me. He walked slowly towards me and stopped right in front of me, put his hands on my shoulders and looked steadily into my eyes. "Just answer me one question, Kiara," he said. "Does what you have to do involve how to destroy Zira? You don't have to fill me in on all the details, just tell me."

"Yes," I answered.

My father nodded, then wrapped me in his arms, and I knew that he was giving me his blessing.

"Good luck, Kiara," he murmured into my hair.

"Thanks, Daddy," I said. He then kissed my forehead, let me go, smiled slightly and left the room. I then turned to my mother, who was watching me gently, Kion still sucking his thumb.

"You're not angry with me, are you, Mum?"

My mother shook her head and got to her feet. "No," she said, as she strode towards me, hoisting my little brother in her arms as she walked. "I am frightened, but not angry. How could I be, when you are trying to do something good for the world." Her smile then faded. "Just promise me something."

"Promise what, Mum?" I asked her.

"That you will let your father and I - and this little man," she added, holding up my brother, " - say goodbye to you before you leave? I don't think any of us could stand it if we didn't bid you farewell, for who knows when we're going to see each other again?"

I smiled at her and nodded. "Of course I will, Mum."

Mum smiled and kissed my forehead. Kion then started moaning; looking at him, I saw that he was flailing his arms trying to reach me. Mum and I laughed.

"I think someone wants his big sister," Mum said, handing him over to me. I kissed his head and held him. Kion smiled a toothless smile at me and put his arms on my shoulders, before I turned back to Mum who was watching us both fondly.

"You'll help out with the wedding preparations with the others for Sam and Ferdinand, won't you?" said Mum suddenly. "There's still so much to do."

"No - I - of course not," I said, disconcerted by this sudden change of subject.

"Sweet of you," she replied, smiling at me, and together we left the drawing room.

From that moment on, my father kept Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I so busy with preparations for the wedding that we hardly had time to think. The kindest explanation of this behaviour would have been that my father wanted to distract us all from thoughts of Crazy-Head, and the terrors of our recent journey. After two days of non-stop cutlery cleaning, of colour-matching favours, ribbons and flowers, to mopping the floors and helping my mother cook batches of canapés, however, I started to suspect him of a different motive. All the jobs he handed out seemed to keep Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I away from one another; I had not had a chance to speak to the three of them, alone, since the first night, when I had told them about Zira torturing Wandwick.

"I think Simba thinks if he can stop the four of us getting together and planning, he'll be able to delay us leaving," Chris told me in an undertone, as we laid the dining room table for dinner on the third night of my stay.

"And then what does he think's going to happen?" I muttered. "Someone else might kill off Zira while he's holding us here making vol-au-vents?"

Chris gave a hollow chuckle. "Yeah," he said.

Chris and I stared at each other then, and I suddenly became aware that this was the first time I had been alone with him since those stolen hours in secluded corners of the Dragon Mort grounds. I was sure he was remembering them too. Both of us jumped as the door opened, and Mr Dawson, Kara and Sam walked in.

We were often joined by the other Order members for dinner now, because Dawson Manor had replaced Warts' House as Headquarters. Mr Dawson had explained that after the death of Crighton, their Secret Keeper, each of the people to whom Crighton had confided Warts' House location had become a Secret Keeper in turn.

"And as there are around twenty of us, that greatly dilutes the power of the Fidelius Charm. Twenty times as many opportunities for the Love Destroyers to get the secret out of somebody. We can't expect it to hold much longer."

"But surely Triphorm will have told the Love Destroyers the address by now?" I asked.

"Well, Crazy-Head set up a couple of curses against Triphorm in case she turns up there again. We hope they'll be strong enough both to keep her out and to bind her tongue if she tries to talk about the place, but we can't be sure. It would have been insane to keep using the place as Headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky."

The dining room table on the second floor of Dawson Manor was long with plenty of space, so there was plenty of room to manoeuvre knives and forks. I found myself sitting next to Chris that night; the unsaid things that had just passed between us made me wish that we had been separated by a few more people. Every so often I would brush Chris' arm or he would brush mine, making things even more awkward between us.

"No news about Crazy-Head?" I asked Sam.

"Nothing," replied Sam.

We had not been able to hold a funeral for Grumpy, because Sam and Meers had failed to recover her body. It had been difficult to know where she might have fallen, given the darkness and the confusion of the battle.

"The _Daily Squabbler_ hasn't said a word about her dying, or about finding the body," Sam went on. "But that doesn't mean much. It's keeping a lot quiet these days."

"And they still haven't called a hearing about all the under-age magic I used escaping the Love Destroyers?" I called across the table to Mr Dawson, who shook his head. "Because they knew I had no choice or because they don't want me to tell the world Zira attacked me?"

"The latter, I think. Scrimwazz doesn't want to admit that She-You-Know is as powerful as she is, nor that Azkaban's seen a mass breakout."

"Yeah, why tell the public the truth?" I said, clenching my knife so tightly that the faint scars on the back of my right hand stood out, white against my skin: _I must not tell lies_.

"Isn't anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to her?" asked Chrissie angrily.

"Of course, Chrissie, but people are terrified," Mr Dawson replied, "terrified that they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty rumours going round; I, for one, don't believe the Muggle Studies professor at Dragon Mort resigned. He hasn't been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile, Scrimwazz remains shut up in her office all day. I just hope she's working on a plan."

There was a pause in which Sian magicked the empty plates on to a smaller table, and served apple crumble.

"We must decide 'ow you will be disguised, Kiara," said Ferdinand, once everyone had pudding. "For ze wedding," he added, when I looked confused. "Of course, none of our guests are Love Destroyers, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something slip after zey 'ave 'ad champagne."

From this, I gathered that he still suspected Mina.

"Yes, good point," said my father, who was sat at the right of Mr Dawson at the head of the table, scanning an immense list of jobs that he had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. "In fact, I think Nala and I will need some Polyjuice Potion too, just to be safe. Now then, Chrissie, Sian tells me you haven't cleaned out your room yet. Have you done it?"

Chrissie turned to glare at Sian, who was sat opposite her father at the other end of the table, which is where she's meant to sit, seeing as she was now mistress of the house, but she didn't look comfortable sitting there; she looked sad and her posture reminded me of someone who didn't look like they belonged there but had to stay where they were and endure it. Anyhoo, seeing as Chrissie got nothing from Sian, she rounded on my father instead.

 _"Why?"_ she exclaimed, slamming her spoon down and glaring at him. "Why does my room have to be cleaned out? I'm fine with it the way it is!"

"We are holding your cousin's wedding here in a few days' time, young lady - "

"And are they getting married in my bedroom?" asked Chrissie furiously. "No! So why in the name of Merlin's saggy left - "

"Chrissie, don't be so rude," said Sian firmly, "and do as you're told!"

Chrissie scowled at her sister, then picked up her spoon and attacked the last few mouthfuls of her apple crumble.

"I can help Chrissie, I don't mind," I said, but my father cut across me.

"No, Kiara, I'd much rather you help Matt prune the rosebushes, and Sian, I'd be ever so grateful if you and Chris could change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame Desjardin, you know they're arriving at eleven tomorrow morning."

But as it turned out, there was very little to do for the rosebushes.

"There's no need to, er, mention it to Simba," Mr Dawson told me, blocking my entrance to the gardens, "but, er, Tim Todd sent me most of what was left of Simba's bike and, er, I'm hiding - that's to say, keeping - it in the shed down there. Fantastic stuff: there's an exhaust gaskin, as I believe it's called, the most magnificent battery, and it'll be a great opportunity to find out how the brakes work. I'm going to wait until after the wedding to ask your father if he would be willing to help me fix it."

Looking around the main part of the house, I saw that my father was nowhere in sight, so I slipped upstairs to the smaller attic, for I had an inkling that Chris, Sian and Chrissie might be up there.

Just as I thought, when I arrived there, Chris, Sian and Chrissie jumped up, alert, but as soon as they saw it was me, the three of them relaxed and sat back down again: Chrissie on the floor, and Sian and Chris on a two-seater sofa, with Lucifer perched on Chris' lap, as Sian was busy sorting books, some of which I recognised as my own, into two enormous piles.

"Chrissie, I thought you were supposed to be cleaning your room?" I said, as I closed the door.

"I'll get to it," Chrissie moaned; Sian shook her head in disapproval but said nothing, and I knew, as she did, that Chrissie was never going to get round to it.

"And how did you two manage to get away?" I asked Chris and Sian, as I sat down next to Chrissie.

"Oh, Simba forgot that he asked Chris and I to change the sheets yesterday," said Sian. She threw _Numerology and Grammatica_ on to one pile and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ on to the other.

"We were just talking about Crazy-Head," Chrissie told me. "I reckon she might have survived."

"But Sam saw her hit by the Killing Curse," I said.

"Yeah, but Sam was under attack too," said Chrissie. "How can she be sure what she saw?"

"Even if the Killing Curse missed, Crazy-Head still fell about a thousand feet," said Sian, now weighing _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_ in her hand.

"She could have used a Shield Charm - "

"Ferdinand said her wand was blasted out of her hand," said Chris.

"Well, all right, if you want her to be dead," said Chrissie grumpily, glowering at the wall.

"Of course we don't want her to be dead!" said Sian, looking shocked. "It's dreadful that she's dead! But we're being realistic!"

For the first time, I imagined Crazy-Head's body, broken as Crighton's had been, yet with those four eyes still whizzing on her forehead. I felt a stab of revulsion mixed with a bizarre desire to laugh.

"The Love Destroyers probably tidied up after themselves, that's why no one's found her," said Chrissie wisely.

"Yeah," I said. "Like Bea Clutch, turned into a bone and buried in Mina's front garden. They probably transfigured Grumpy and stuffed her - "

"Don't!" squealed Sian. Startled, I looked over just in time to see a tear fall on to her copy of _Spellman's Syllabry_.

"Oh, no," I said, struggling to get up from the floor. "Sian, I wasn't trying to upset - "

But Chris, who was closest to Sian, got there first. One arm around his sister, he fished in his jeans pocket and withdrew a revolting-looking handkerchief that he had used to clean out the oven earlier. Hastily pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the rag and said, _"Tergeo."_

The wand siphoned off most of the grease. Looking rather pleased with himself, Chris handed the slightly smoking handkerchief to Sian.

"Oh ... thanks, Chris ... I'm sorry ..." She mopped her eyes, blew her nose and hiccoughed. "It's just so awf-ful, isn't it? R-Right after Ma ... I j-just n-never imagined Crazy-Head dying, somehow, she seemed so tough!"

"Yeah, I know," said Chris, giving her a squeeze. "But you know what she'd say to us if she was here?"

"C-Constant vigilance," said Sian, mopping her eyes again.

"That's right," said Chrissie, nodding. "She'd tell us to learn from what happened to her. And what I've learned is not to trust that cowardly little squit Mona."

Chris chuckled, and Sian gave a shaky little laugh and leaned forwards to pick up two more books. A second later, Chris had snatched his arm back from around her shoulders; she had dropped _The Monster Book of Monsters_ on his foot. The book had broken free from its restraining belt and snapped viciously at Chris' ankle.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Sian cried, as I wrenched the book from Chris' leg and retied it shut.

"What are you doing with all those books, anyway?" Chrissie asked.

"Just trying to decide which ones to take with us," said Sian. "When we're looking for Horcruxes."

"Oh, of course," said Chrissie, clapping a hand to her forehead. "I forgot we'll be hunting down Zira in a mobile library."

"Ha ha," said Sian, looking down at _Spellman's Syllabary_. "I wonder ... will we need to translate runes? It's possible ... I think we'd better take it, to be safe."

She dropped the syllabary on to the larger of the two piles and picked up _Dragon Mort: A History_.

"Listen," I said.

I sat up straight. Chris, Sian and Chrissie looked at me with similar expressions of resignation and defiance.

"I know you said, after Crighton's funeral, that you wanted to come with me," I began.

"Here we go," Chris said to Sian and Chrissie, rolling his eyes.

"Yet again," sighed Chrissie.

"As we knew she would," Sian sighed, turning back to the books. "You know, I think I _will_ take _Dragon Mort: A History_. Even if we're not going back there, I don't think I'd feel right if I didn't take it with - "

"Listen!" I said again.

"No, Kiara, _you_ listen," said Sian. "We're coming with you. That was decided months ago - years, really."

"But - "

"Shut up," Chrissie advised me.

" - are you sure you've thought this through?" I persisted.

"Let's see," said Sian, slamming _Travellings with Trolls_ on to the discarded pile with a fierce look. "I've been packing for days, so we're ready to leave at a moment's notice, which for your information had included doing some pretty difficult magic, not to mention smuggling Crazy-Head's whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under your father's nose.

"I also promised Ma ... before she died ... that I would stay with you until the end. The others will be fine. They'll be at the school and will have most of the teachers there to protect them. So no matter how tough it gets, no matter how much I'll miss my siblings, I'm sticking with you, kid. As are Chris and Chrissie. And there is nothing you can do or say that is going to stop us from coming with you."

Sian's eyes were swimming with tears again. Chris put his arm around her once more, and both he and Chrissie glared at me as though reproaching me for lack of tact. I could not think of anything to say, not least because it was highly unusual for Chrissie to be teaching anyone else tact.

"I - Sian, I'm sorry - I didn't - "

"Didn't realise that Chris, Chrissie and I know perfectly well what might happen if we come with you? Well, we do. Chrissie, show Kiara what the Tweebs've done."

"All right," said Chrissie. She stood up and motioned for me to follow her.

Chrissie led me back down to our bedroom corridor, stepping outside the third door from the door that led to the upper rooms and the smaller attic. Curious to see what she was going to show me, I remained quiet as Chrissie knocked on the door. The tinkering inside the room stopped immediately, and a few seconds later the door opened to reveal the Tweebs in their lab coats, also wearing safety goggles and gloves. The both looked surprised to see us."

"Hey, guys," said Chrissie. I'm here to show Kiara the Secret Project we've been working on. Can we come in?"

The Tweebs stood back to let us past. As the door closed behind us, I studied the room carefully.

It was a large room with two beds standing opposite each other at the end of the room, with a large window separating them, which was covered in thick black drapes, which I guessed were hardly ever opened. A few lamps were lit on the desks that stood opposite each other near the door, which were littered with tools, screws, drills, hammers, wires and countless other electrical things, and the walls were covered in blueprints and rough drawings of designs, all overlapping each other, which made it impossible to know what the colour paint was there, and on either side of the desks on hooks were two hazmat suits. In the middle of the room was a table, much like an operating table, which was covered by a glass case, and the Tweebs were standing at the top end of it by a control panel. I looked at Chrissie, who nodded at me, and so I walked over to the table and looked down, and I gasped at what I saw inside.

It was Chrissie. She had the same face, same height, same freckles, same hair ... but it was also different to Chrissie: the hair was falling out, the skin was slimy and covered in angry purple blisters, and she was also wearing one of Chrissie's green nightgowns. I looked at Chrissie, who was watching me expectantly.

"What is it?" I asked her.

" _She_ is an A.I., Kiara," Chrissie explained.

"A what?" I said blankly.

"Artificial Intelligence," said one of the Tweebs quietly and softly. I turned to face them and Jack, who had spoken, continued, "She's meant to look like Chrissie, so that after you are gone, we are going to move her into Chrissie's room and tell people that Chrissie is ill with Spattergroit, and is therefore too unwell to return to school."

"Good, eh?" said Chrissie excitedly.

I merely looked my confusion.

"It is!" said Chrissie, clearly frustrated that I had not grasped the brilliancy of the plan. "I'll explain more when we're back in the attic. Thanks, guys. See you later," she added to the Tweebs, who waved us out.

Once we had rejoined Chris, who had taken his arm from around Sian's shoulders again, and Sian, who was still sorting books, Chrissie continued, "Look, when the four of us don't turn up at Dragon Mort again, everyone's going to think Chris, Sian and I must be with you, right? Which means the Love Destroyers will go straight for our families to see if they've got information on where you are."

"And seeing as my real mum is dead, and my dad hasn't been heard of or seen in years, I've not got them to worry about," said Chris, shrugging. "This family, on the other hand - my _real_ family - I am worried for."

"We can't hide our whole family, it'll look too fishy and they can't all leave school," said Sian. "So we're going to put out the story that Chrissie is seriously ill with Spattergroit, which is why she can't go back to school. If anyone comes calling to investigate, Dad or Joey can show them the A.I. in Chrissie's bed, covered in pustules. Spattergroit's really contagious, so they're not going to want to go near her. It won't matter that she can't say anything, either, because apparently you can't once the fungus has spread to your uvula."

"Who else is in on it along with the four of us and the Tweebs?" I asked.

"Dad, Joey, Joey's friend, the one who drives the other car, Meers, and Tanya and Geri. As Jack said before, he and Joe are going to move her to my room and check on her once every day to see if she's functioning properly; but once they've started school, Joey and his friend are going to take over the Tweebs' job," said Chrissie.

There was silence in the room, broken only by gentle thuds, as Sian continued to throw books on to one pile or the other. Chris and Chrissie both sat watching her, and I looked at each of my friends in turn, unable to say anything. The measures they had taken to protect their family made me realise, more than anything else could have done, that they really were going to come with me and that they knew exactly how dangerous that would be. I wanted to tell them what that meant to me, but I simply could not find words important enough.

Then through the silence, many floors below, came the muffled sounds of my father shouting.

"Max's probably left a speck pf dust on a poxy napkin ring," said Chrissie. "I dunno why the Desjardins have to come two days before the wedding."

"Ferdinand's brother's the ring bearer, he needs to be here for the rehearsal and he's too young to come on his own," said Sian, as she threw aside _Break with a Banshee_.

"Well, guests aren't going to help Simba's stress levels," said Chrissie.

"What we really need to decide," said Sian, tossing _Defensive Magical Theory_ into the bin without a second glance and picking up _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_ , "is where we're going to go after we leave here. I know you said you wanted to go to the Pride Lands first, Kiara, and I understand why, but ... well ... shouldn't we make the Horcruxes our priority?"

"If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, I'd agree with you," I said, not believing that Sian really understood my desire to return to the Pride Lands. My birthplace was only part of the attraction: I had a strong, though inexplicable, feeling that the place held answers for me. Perhaps it was simply because it was there that I had survived Zira's Killing Curse; now that I was facing the challenge of repeating the feat, I was drawn to the place where it had happened, wanting to understand.

"Don't you think there's a possibility that Zira's keeping a watch on the Pride-Lands?" Sian asked. "She might expect you to go back and visit the place you were born once you're free to go wherever you like?"

This had not occurred to me. While I struggled to find a counter-argument, Chrissie spoke up, evidently following her own train of thought.

"This O.B.W. person," she said. "You know, the one who stole the real locket?"

Chris and Sian nodded.

"She said in her note she was going to destroy it, didn't she?"

I had read the note in the fake locket so many times that I didn't have to read it to know what it said any more.

 _"'I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can',"_ I recited.

"Well, what if she _did_ finish it off?" said Chrissie.

"Or he," interposed Chris.

"Whichever," said Chrissie, "it'll be one less for us to do!"

"Yes, but we're still going to have to try and trace the real locket, aren't we?" said Sian. "To find out whether or not it's destroyed."

"And once we get hold of it, how _do_ you destroy a Horcrux?" asked Chrissie.

"Well," said Sian, "I've been researching that."

"How?" I asked. "I didn't think there were any books on Horcruxes in the library?"

"There weren't," said Sian, whose face was flushed. "Ma removed them all, but she - she didn't destroy them."

Chrissie sat up straight, wide-eyed.

"How in the name of Merlin's pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?"

"It - it wasn't stealing!" said Sian, looking from myself to Chris to Chrissie with a kind of desperation. "They were still library books, even if Ma had taken them off the shelves. Anyway, if she _really_ didn't want anyone to get at them, I'm sure she would have made it much harder to - "

"To the point, if you please, sister!" said Chris.

"Well ... it was easy," said Sian in a small voice. "I just did a Summoning Charm. You know - _accio_. And - they zoomed out of Ma's study window right into the girls' dormitory."

"But when did you do this?" I asked, regarding Sian with a mixture of admiration and incredulity.

"Just after her - Ma's - funeral," said Sian, in an even smaller voice. "Right after we agreed we'd leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. When I got back upstairs to get my trunk after the congregation began to leave it - it just occurred to me that the more we know about them, the better it would be ... and I was alone in there ... so I tried ... and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I - I packed them."

She swallowed and then said imploringly, "I can't believe Ma would have been angry, it's not as though we're going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?"

"Can you hear us complaining?" said Chris. "Where are the books, anyway?"

Sian rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded, black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something recently dead.

"This is the one that give explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ \- it's a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Ma removed it from the library ... if she didn't do it until she was Headmistress, I bet Zira got all the instruction she needed from here."

"Why did she have to ask Beadu how to make a Horcrux, then, if she'd already read that?" asked Chrissie.

"She only approached Beadu to find out what would happen if you spilt your soul into seven," I said. "Crighton was sure Maliay already knew how to make a Horcrux by the time she asked Beadu about them. I think you're right, Sian, that could easily have been where she got the information."

"And the more I've read about them," said Sian, "the more horrible they seem, and the less I can believe she actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and that's just by making one Horcrux!"

I remembered what Crighton had said, about Zira moving beyond "usual evil".

"Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?" Chris asked.

"Yes," said Sian, with a hollow smile, "but it would be excruciatingly painful."

"Why? How do you do it?" I asked.

"Remorse," said Sian. "You've got to really feel what you've done. There's a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can't see Zira attempting it, somehow, can you?"

"No," said Chrissie, before Chris or I could answer. "So does it say how to destroy Horcruxes in that book?"

"Yes," said Sian, now turning the fragile pages as if examining rotten entrails, "because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I've read, what I did to Maliay's diary was one of the few really fool proof ways of destroying a Horcrux."

"What, stabbing it with a Lizsnabadra fang?" I asked.

"Oh, well, lucky we've got such a large supply of Lizsnabadra fangs, then," said Chrissie. "I was wondering what we were going to do with them."

"It doesn't have to be a Lizsnabadra fang," said Sian pointedly. "It has to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself. Lizsnabadra venom only has one antidote, and it's incredibly rare - "

" - phoenix tears," I said, nodding.

"Exactly," said Sian. "Our problem is that there are very few substances as destructive as Lizsnabadra venom, and they're all dangerous to carry around with you. That's a problem we're going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing or crushing a Horcrux won't do the trick. You've got to put it beyond magical repair."

"But even if we wreck the thing it lives in," said Chrissie, "why can't the bit of soul in it just go and live in something else?"

"Because a Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being."

Seeing that Chris, Chrissie and I looked thoroughly confused, Sian hurried on, "Look, if I picked up a sword right now, Chrissie, and ran you through with it, I wouldn't damage your soul at all."

"Which would be a real comfort to me, I'm sure," said Chrissie.

Chris and I laughed.

"It should be, actually! But my point is that whatever happens to your body, your soul will survive, untouched," said Sian. "But it's the other way round with a Horcrux. The fragment of soul inside it depends on its container, its enchanted body, for survival. It can't exist without it."

"That diary sort of died when you stabbed it, Sian," I said, remembering ink pouring like blood from the punctured pages, and the screams of the piece of Zira's soul as it vanished.

"And once the diary was properly destroyed, the bit of soul trapped in it could no longer exist. Kestrel tried to get rid of the diary before we did, Kiara, flushing it away, but, obviously, it came back good as new."

"Hang on," said Chrissie, frowning. "The bit of soul in that diary was possessing Kestrel, wasn't it? How does that work, then?"

"While the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don't mean holding it for too long, it's nothing to do with touching it," she added, before Chrissie could speak. "I mean close emotionally. Kestrel poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You're in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux."

"I wonder how Crighton destroyed the ring?" I said. "Why didn't I ask her? I never really ..."

My voice tailed away: I was thinking of all the things I should have asked Crighton, and of how, since the Headmistress had died, it seemed to me that I had wasted so many opportunities, when Crighton had been alive, to find out more ... to find out everything ...

The silence was shattered as the attic door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Sian shrieked and dropped _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ ; Lucifer jumped out of Chris' arms and streaked under the sofa, hissing indignantly, and Chrissie and I banged our heads together. Rubbing my head, wincing, I looked round and saw my father standing in the doorway, scowling.

"I'm sorry to break up this cosy little gathering," he said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I'm sure you all need your rest ... but there are wedding presents stacked in the drawing room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help."

"Oh, yes," said Sian, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction, "we will ... we're sorry ..."

With an anguished look at Chris, Chrissie and I, Sian hurried out of the room after my father.

"It's like being a house-elf," complained Chrissie in an undertone, still massaging her head as she, Chris and I followed. "Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding's over, the happier I'll be."

"Yeah," I said, "then we'll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes ... it'll be like a holiday, won't it?"

Chris and Chrissie both started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for us in the drawing room, they stopped quite abruptly.

The Desjardins arrived the following morning at eleven o'clock. Chris, Sian, Chrissie, the rest of the Dawsons and I were feeling quite resentful towards Ferdinand's family by this time, and it was with an ill grace that Chrissie stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks (told by Sian, not my father). Once we had all been deemed smart enough, we trooped out into the sunny garden to await the visitors.

The clean house looked, if possible, even cleaner. The windows gleamed in the sunlight and the sun reflected off the polished white marble walls, meaning we all had to look away from the blinding white walls. The gardens had been pruned, plucked and generally spruced up, and every inch of the inside of the house was just as clean as the outside, and two new Flutterby bushes stood on either side of the kitchen door in large pots; though there was no breeze, the leaves waved lazily, giving an attractive rippling effect.

I had lost track of how many security enchantments had been placed upon Dawson Manor by both the Order and the Ministry; all I knew was that it was no longer possible for anybody to travel directly by magic directly into the place. Mr Dawson had therefore gone to meet the Desjardins on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive by Portkey. The first sound of their approach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr Dawson, who appeared through the trees instead of coming through the main gate, laden with luggage and leading a handsome, black haired man, dressed in leaf-green robes, who could only be Ferdinand's father.

 _"Papa!"_ cried Ferdinand, striding forwards to embrace him. _"Mama!"_

Madame Desjardin was nowhere near as attractive as her husband; she was quite short and very plump, her rich brown hair tied back in a ponytail. However, she looked friendly and good-natured. Bouncing towards Sian on high-heeled boots that really did nothing to help with her height, she kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving Sian flustered at this display of affection.

"You 'ave been too much trouble," she said in a light, soft voice. "Ferdinand tells us you 'ave been working very 'ard."

"Oh, it's been nothing, nothing!" said Sian breathlessly. "No trouble at all!"

Chrissie relieved her feelings by aiming a kick at a tuft of grass at her feet.

"Dear lady!" said Madame Desjardin, still cupping Sian's cheeks in her plump hands and beaming. "We are most honoured at the approaching union of our two families! Let me introduce my 'usband, Phillippe!"

Monsieur Desjardin strode gracefully forwards and, as soon as Madame Desjardin let Sian go so that she could straighten up, he stooped to kiss Sian too.

 _"Enchantee,"_ he said. "Your fazzer 'as been telling us such amusing stories!"

Mr Dawson gave a maniacal laugh; Sian threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.

"And, of course, you 'ave met my leetle son, Simon!" said Madame Desjardin.

Simon was Ferdinand in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length black hair, he gave Sian a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw me a glowing look. Chris glowered at him.

"Well, come in, do!" said Sian brightly, and she ushered the Desjardins into the house, with many "No, please!"s and "After you!"s and "Not at all!"s.

The Desjardins, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Desjardin pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids' shoes _"charmant!"_ Madame Desjardin was most accomplished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Simon followed his elder brother around, trying to assist in any way he could and jabbering away in rapid French.

As there were now so many of us staying at Dawson Manor, and the house was built to accommodate more than the number of people currently staying there, my father found it hard to keep track on all of us. Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I used this to our advantage, either going up to the smaller attic to plan, or else the balcony garden, where no one wandering the grounds looking up would be able to see us, which is where we were one afternoon, as a means of escaping the house which, large as it was, was beginning to feel overcrowded.

"But he _still_ won't leave us alone!" snarled Chrissie as she, Chris, Sian and I looked down at the garden below, where my father and mother were walking together, talking quietly with baby Kion in his arms, and although he was focused on my mother's voice, his eyes were constantly scouring the grounds for us.

"He's probably looking to tell us that we'll have to stay inside tomorrow when the men come," said Sian.

"Men?" I asked.

"Millamant's Magical Marquees," Sian explained. "They're putting up the tent for the wedding. Dad told me," she added. "They're very good, apparently ... Sam's escorting them." She sighed, then said, "I must sat it does complicate organising a wedding, having all these security spells around the place."

"I'm sorry," I said humbly, as below my father scowled kept looking left and right for any trace of us.

"Oh, don't be so silly, Kiara!" said Sian at once. "I didn't mean - well, your safety's much more important! Oh, and I've just remembered - I was speaking to your father only this morning, Kiara, and he wanted me to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday. Seventeen, after all, it's an important day ..."

"I don't want a fuss," I said quickly, envisaging the additional weight this would put on us all. "Really, Sian, just a normal dinner would be fine ... it's the day before the wedding ..."

"Oh, well, if you're sure, we'll invite Meers and Todd, shall we? And how about Mina?"

"That'd be great," I said. "But please don't go to loads of trouble."

"Not at all, not at all ... it's no trouble ..." There was a short pause, then Sian said, "Well ... I'd best go and let your father know ..."

Casting me a small smile, Sian straightened up and turned away, walking to the door that led back into the house. As I watched her go, a sudden great wave of remorse came over me for the inconvenience I was giving her family and mine.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8**

 **The Will of Susan Crighton**

 **KIARA**

I was walking along a mountain road in the cool, blue light of dawn. Far below, swathed in mist, was the shadow of a small town. Was the woman I sought down there? The woman I needed so badly I could think of little else, the woman who held the answer, the answer to my problem ...

I woke up, slowly. I was lying on my bed in my room at Dawson Manor. The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy. The scar on my forehead was prickling.

Sitting up, I rubbed my scar, suddenly feeling wide awake. I tried to remember exactly what I had seen in the dream, but all that came back was a mountainous horizon and the outline of a little village cradled in a deep valley. That, and the fact that Zira was looking for someone ... a woman ... but what was her -

Hori! That was her name! But why was Zira abroad looking for this woman? What did Zira want from her so badly? But before I could ask myself any more questions, there came a knock on my door.

"Come in."

The door opened and my parents came in, with my mother holding Kion in her arms. My father shut the door and he and my mother came and sat down on my bed.

"Daddy, Mum, what are you doing here so early?" I asked, surprised, as I took my little brother from my mother, cradling him in my arms.

"To wish you a happy birthday, of course," my father said, "before anyone else does. Here - " he pulled out of a pocket in his robes a small velvet box and handed it to me. "This is for you."

I handed Kion back to my mother and took the box from my father. Opening it, I discovered that there was a watch inside it; it was silver, with half-moon, half-sun symbols placed at fifteen minute intervals.

"It's beautiful," I said, smiling at my parents. "Thank you."

"It's traditional for a wizard to receive a watch on their birthday," my father said, beaming at my happiness. "Your mother and I had this watch made specially for you, and I'm glad that we're all here to celebrate it."

"As am I," I said. "Thank you both for this," I added as I put the watch on. "You know, I had actually forgotten that it was my birthday before you three came in."

My parents laughed at this, and Kion, sensing joy, laughed too, which made me laugh with them. I then got a hug and a kiss from my parents, before they stood and walked to the door. In the doorway, my father looked back at me and whispered, "Happy birthday, Princess," before shutting the door behind him.

Revelling in the removal of my Trace, I sent my possessions flying the room, laughing as I did so, not caring if I woke everyone in the house up, so overjoyed was I not to have the Trace on me any more. I also tried tying the laces of my boots by magic, which I learned quickly never to do again, seeing as the resultant knot took several minutes to untie by hand.

When I arrived in the large dining room, I found Sam and Madame Desjardin and most of the Dawsons seated at the table eating breakfast, along with a pile of presents at the end. They all wished me a happy birthday, and Sian came and hugged me.

"Dad told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Kiara," she said, pulling back slightly and beaming at me. "He had to leave early for work, but he'll be back for dinner. That's his present on top."

I sat down, took the square parcel she had indicated and unwrapped it. Inside was a silver bracelet with different gem studs placed at intervals, from blue sapphire to onyx.

"Our father gave Chrissie and I one, too," Sian said. Looking up at her, she explained. "He had them made for us, and he's already got Beth, Kestrel and Merida's made for them when they turn seventeen, too. Each gem represents someone in our family, so that no matter what happens, you will always be a - "

The rest of her speech was lost; I got up and hugged her again. I tried to put a lot of unsaid things into the hug and perhaps she understood me, because she hugged me back and murmured, "I'm glad you like it." When we pulled back again she said, "Well, why don't you open the rest?"

I did as she asked. Sian herself had bought me a new Sneakoscope. My other packages included a beauty pampering kit from Sam and Ferdinand ("You're seventeen now, Kiara," said Sam, "and even though you may not feel like it, your skin will need rejuvenating every now and then."), a new make-up kit from Chrissie, varieties of my favourite sweets from the rest of the Dawsons, chocolates from the Desjardins and an enormous box of the latest Fangs' Friendly Funnies merchandise from Tanya and Geri.

Sian, Chrissie and I did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Monsieur Desjardin, Ferdinand, Simon and my parents began to make the dining room feel uncomfortably crowded.

"I'll pack these for you," Sian said brightly, taking my presents out of my arms as the three of us headed out of the dining room. "I'm nearly done, I'm just waiting for the rest of your knickers to come out of the wash, Chrissie - "

Chrissie started to splutter indignantly, but I cut across her.

"Sian, do you know that special bag my grandmothers gave me? Have you packed it yet?"

"No. Why?"

"My grandmothers gave me some presents for today before I left them, and I haven't had the chance to open them yet, that's all," I quickly explained.

"Oh, that's no problem," said Sian. "Just come to me with them once you're done, Kiara, and I'll pack them for you, all right?"

I nodded and smiled at her, which she returned. When we reached the corridor where our bedrooms were, both Sian and Chrissie retreated behind the sanctuary of their own rooms. As I was going to go into my own room, the fourth door down from mine opened and Chris popped his head out. Looking right at me, he said, "Kiara, will you come in here a moment?"

I looked at the doors of Sian and Chrissie's bedrooms. Seeing that they were both closed, I turned and walked to Chris' room. He stood aside to let me pass, and as he closed the door, I had a good look around the place.

The room is painted in the Lion-Heart colours of red and gold. Lion-Heart banners, flags and streamers covered the walls. A large carved figurine of a dragon hung from the ceiling, and above Chris' headboard was a lion-s head carved out of sandalwood. I gasped at the detail of the handsome lion; Chris, who had come to stand beside me, said, "Like what you see?"

"The lion head," I said breathlessly, "it's magnificent!"

Chris' smile widened. "Thanks," he said. "I carved it myself, and the dragon." He nodded at the ceiling before moving across to his desk, where smaller carvings of lions were stationed. "You know, Kiara," he said, "... I've been wondering what to get you for your birthday."

"You didn't have to get me anything."

He disregarded this.

"I know I've made carvings for you before, but that didn't seem good enough. In fact, nothing I thought of seemed good enough for you ... and then it hit me. There _is_ something I can give you, something that you will remember forever, and it will always make you think of me."

"What is it?" I asked, unsure of where this was going.

Chris said nothing but turned to face me. When our eyes met, his gaze was powerful and eased my nerves and insecurities. Somehow I knew that whatever Chris was going to give me was not going to hurt me. He then started walking towards me, his footsteps laboured, calculating, as though he were questioning himself on every step he took. After what seemed like an age he reached me and cupped my face gently in his hands; I closed my eyes, relishing once again in the warmth that emanated off of him, as a tingling sensation, something like electricity, sparked through my body, igniting every sense, starting from the place where Chris' hands touched me.

"This is what I want to give you," he whispered huskily, before his lips crashed down on to mine. This wasn't like the normal kisses we had shared, oh no. This was a powerful, earth-shattering kiss full of love and promise, a promise of better days, better years, to come, in which we could be together. As the kiss deepened, I wrapped one arm around his neck and the other one became knotted in his hair. He was all I felt, smelled and tasted; he was the only thing that was real, the only thing that seemed to exist for me at that moment. My mind was blissfully blank and I did not want the kiss to end any time soon.

Eventually, though, it did end, but only when the need for oxygen became too urgent to ignore. We broke apart still holding each other, the two of us gasping for air in each other's arms. When I opened my eyes I saw Chris smiling at me, his eyes shining with love. I smiled back at him, grateful for the present he had given me.

"I know I said I'd wait 'til this was all over for us to be together," said Chris, "and I still stand by that, but as I wanted you to have something special from me on your birthday, and I thought that this would be perfect next to ... you know ..."

It took me a moment to register what Chris was saying, and when I did I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Well, I'm pretty sure that there would be a few people in this house who would've killed us if we went that far," I said, smiling weakly.

Chris gave a slight chuckle and said, "Yeah, well, I don't think we're ready to do that just yet, anyway." I nodded, unsure of what to say next. Chris himself seemed unsure of what to say, too, so he said, "I hoped you liked my present anyway, Kiara."

"I loved it. Thank you," I said, and before I could leave the safety of his arms our lips met again. We couldn't help it: we were drawn to each other, fitting perfectly together like two jigsaw pieces. When we pulled back again Chris said, "You'd best leave now, Kiara, for I don't know if I can trust myself when we're like this."

I nodded, knowing he was right, so I left the warmth of his embrace, feeling suddenly cold and bereft, and said, "I'll see you at dinner, then." Chris nodded, and I left his room.

Once outside, I leaned against his door, willing my heart to stop racing. I wondered how Chris and I were going to be able to function within close distance with each other, day in, day out, and not run into each other's arms. True, Sian and Chrissie would be there, but the feelings that Chris and I had for each other didn't care about other people, only ourselves. I then remembered that I wanted to look through the extra bag to see what my grandmothers had got me for my birthday, but suddenly I found myself not wanting to do that any more. Promising myself that I would do it that night, I went back to my own room.

Chris did not seek another one-to-one meeting with me for the rest of the day, nor by any look or gesture did he show that we had been alone together at all, which suited me just well. If any of the Dawsons suspected that Chris and I had shared a stolen moment together they did not show it, though I did catch Sian and Chrissie exchanging looks and glancing towards Chris and I more often than usual, so it came as a great relief to me when Kat arrived, distracting Sian and Chrissie from Chris and I, for which I was grateful.

Seeing as it was a nice night and my birthday, several tables were placed end to end in the garden. Tanya and Geri had bewitched a number of purple lanterns, all emblazoned with a large number "17", to hang in mid-air over the guests. Thanks to my mother's ministrations, Geri's wound was neat and clean, but I was not yet used to the dark hole in the side of her head, despite the twins' many jokes about it.

Sian made purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and drape themselves artistically over the trees and bushes.

"Nicely done!" said Kopa, as with one final flourish of her wand, Sian turned the leaves on the crab-apple tree to gold. "You've got a gift there, Sian, that's wonderful to see."

Sian blushed profusely at being complimented for her spellwork and said, "Thanks, Kopa." I turned away, smiling to myself. I then caught Chris' eye and grinned at him; we shared a long, powerful glance before I shook myself and quickly struck up a conversation with Madame Desjardin.

"Out of the way, out of the way!" sang my mother, coming through the archways of roses with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her. Seconds later I realised that it was my birthday cake, which my mother was suspending with her wand rather than risk carrying it over the long stretch of ground from the kitchen to where we were sat. When the cake had landed in the middle of the table I said, "That looks amazing, Mum. But I thought you had trouble with cooking?"

"Thank you, Kiara," Mum said fondly, "and yes, I do still struggle with cooking, it is true, but I did have help from Sian while making it."

I turned to Sian, who was currently talking to Kopa. Feeling my eyes on her, she looked my way. _Thank you_ , I mouthed, nodding to the cake. Sian just brushed my thanks aside, grinned and turned back to Kopa. I couldn't help but laugh.

By seven o'clock, all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Tanya and Geri, who had waited for them by the gates. Mina had honoured the occasion by wearing her best, and horrible, muddy-brown dress. Although Meers smiled as he hugged me, I thought he looked rather unhappy. It was all very odd; Todd, beside him, looked simply radiant.

"Happy birthday, Kiara," she said, hugging me tightly.

"Seventeen, eh!" said Mina, as she accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from Tanya. "Six years ter the day since we met, Kiara, d'yeh remember it?"

"Vaguely," I said, grinning up at her. "Didn't you come with Grandmother Sarabi through our back garden, give me my letter from Dragon Mort and wish me a happy birthday?"

"I forge' the details," Mina chortled. "All righ', Chris, Sian, Chrissie?"

"We're fine," said Sian. "How are you?"

"Ar, not bad. Bin busy, we got some newborn unicorns, I'll show yeh when yeh get back - " I avoided Chris, Sian and Chrissie's gaze as Mina rummaged in her pocket. "Here, Kiara - couldn' think what ter get yeh, but then I remembered this." She pulled out a small, slightly furry drawstring pouch with a long string, evidently intended to be worn around the neck. "Mokeskin. Hide anythin' in there an' no one but the owner can get it out. They're rare, them."

"Mina, thanks!"

"'S' nothin'," said Mina, with a wave of a dustbin-lid-sized hand. "An' there's Kat! Always liked her - hey! Kat!"

Kat approached, sweeping back what little of her short hair reached her face. She was shorter than Sian, thickset, with a number of burns and scratches up her muscly arms.

"Hi, Mina, how's it going?"

"Bin meanin' ter write fer ages. How's Norberta doin'?"

"Norberta?" Kat laughed. "The Norwegian Ridgeback? We call him Norbert now."

"Wha' - Norberta's a boy?"

"Oh yeah," said Kat.

"How can you tell?" asked Sian.

"They're a lot less vicious than the females," said Kat. She then studied Sian carefully and asked her, "Are you all right, Sian? You seem to be on-edge about something."

I looked at Sian, who was glancing worriedly at her watch. At Kat's words she looked up at her, slightly sheepish at being caught.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "I just thought Dad would be back by now." Then she called to the garden at large, "I think we'd better start without my father, everyone. He must have been held up at - oh!"

We all saw it at the same time: a streak of light that came flying across the garden and on to the table, where it resolved itself into a bright silver bear, which spoke in Mr Dawson's voice:

"Minister for Magic coming with me."

The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Ferdinand's family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished.

"We shouldn't be here," said Meers at once. "Kiara - I'm sorry - I'll explain another time - "

He seized Todd's wrist and puled her away; they went around the archway and out of sight. Sian looked bewildered.

"The Minister - but why - ? I don't understand - "

But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr Dawson's footsteps could be heard coming up the garden, growing louder by the second, accompanied by a second, unsteady pair of feet, and a few moments later Mr Dawson appeared with Rowena Scrimwazz, instantly recognisable by her mane of grizzled hair.

The two newcomers approached the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer. As Scrimwazz came within range of the lantern light, I saw that she looked much older than the last time we had met, scraggy and grim.

"Sorry to intrude," said Scrimwazz, as she limped to a halt before the table. "Especially as I can see that I am gatecrashing a party."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake.

"Many happy returns."

"Thanks," I said.

"I require a private word with you," Scrimwazz went on. "Also with Miss Sian Dawson, Miss Christina Dawson and Mr Christopher Rickers."

"Us?" said Chrissie, sounding surprised. "Why us?"

"I shall tell you when we are somewhere more private," said Scrimwazz, "but not before I have a private word with your father first, all right?"

"Of course, Minister," said Sian. "We'll be waiting for you in the library. I'm sure that my father will show you where it is once you two have done discussing whatever it is you need to discuss."

Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I then stood up from the table and went back to the house before Mr Dawson could say anything. As we walked back to the house in silence, I knew that the other three were thinking the same as I was: Scrimwazz must, somehow, have learned that the four of us were planning to drop out of Dragon Mort, and she wanted to speak to Mr Dawson to see what he knew.

The library was located a few doors down from the drawing room: a wide, white-panelled room with a rough stone floor, with books covering every shelf that reached up to the ceiling. A fireplace and a couple of sofas stood at the other end, and in the centre of the room was a long mahogany table. The Dawsons not only used this room for studying, it was also used to hold family meetings and conferences.

Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I sat in chairs near the top of the table in silence, waiting for Scrimwazz. We didn't have long to wait: five minutes later, the door opened and Scrimwazz came in, shutting the door behind her. Once she had sat in the chair at the top of the table, Scrimwazz spoke.

"I have some questions for the four of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three," she pointed at Chris, Sian and I, "can wait in the drawing room, I will start with Christina."

"We're not going anywhere," I said, while Chris and Sian both nodded vigorously. "You can speak to us together, or not at all."

Scrimwazz gave me a very cold, appraising look. I had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early.

"Very well, then, together," she said, shrugging. She cleared her throat. "I am here, as I am sure you know, because of Susan Crighton's will."

Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I looked at each other. As I looked at Sian, I saw her tense up, her jaw tighten and her eyes filling with unshed tears as the hands resting on either side of her chair gripped it so hard that her knuckles turned white.

"A surprise, apparently! You were not aware, then, that Crighton had left you anything?"

"Of course we were!" said Sian angrily. "I'm just confused as to why none of my family were informed that my mother's will was ready, that's all."

"Your mother was quite an important figure in our world, Miss Dawson," said Scrimwazz. "Naturally, we had to check that there was nothing suspicious that she was leaving to other people."

"You had no right to do that!" said Sian, her voice trembling slightly as her hands shook with rage.

"I had every right," said Scrimwazz dismissively. "The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will - "

"That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artefacts," said Sian, "and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased's possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought my mother was trying to pass us something cursed?"

"Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Dawson?" asked Scrimwazz.

"No, I'm not," retorted Sian. "I'm hoping to do some good in the world, actually!"

Scrimwazz's eyes widened at her words, then turned to me as I spoke.

"So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can't think of a pretext to keep them?"

"No, it'll be because the thirty-one days are up," said Sian at once. "They can't keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they're dangerous. Right?"

"Would you say you were close to your mother, Christina?" asked Scrimwazz, ignoring Sian. Chrissie looked startled.

"Me? Not - not really ... it was always Sian and Kiara who - "

Chrissie looked round at Chris, Sian and I, to see Sian giving her a _stop-talking-now!_ sort of look, but the damage was done: Scrimwazz looked as though she had heard exactly what she had expected, and wanted, to hear. She swooped like a bird of prey upon Chrissie's answer.

"If you were not very close to your mother, how do you account for the fact that she put you in this part of her will? Your mother split her will into two, leaving a small amount of her library to Dragon Mort, a few things to your other siblings and father, and the rest of her possessions were left to your elder sister here," she said, nodding to Sian. "Why do you think you were singled out in this part of the will with your brother?"

"I ... dunno," said Chrissie. "I ... when I say we weren't close ... I knew she loved me ..."

"You're being modest, Chrissie," said Sian. "Ma loved you and Chris and was just as fond of you as she was the rest of her children. She told me so herself."

This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as I knew, neither Chris nor Chrissie had ever been alone with Crighton, and direct contact between them had been negligible. However, Scrimwazz did not seem to be listening. She put her hand inside her cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Mina had given me. From it she removed a scroll of parchment, which she unrolled and read aloud.

" _'The Last Will and Testament of Susan Louise Jane Winifred Crighton'_ ... yes, here we are ... _'to my eldest daughter, Miss Sian Zoe Katrina Dawson, I leave her my copy of_ The Tales of Willow the Writer _, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.'_ "

Scrimwazz pulled out of the bag a small book that looked as ancient as the copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ upstairs. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Sian took it carefully from Scrimwazz without a word, holding it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. She held the book in her lap and gazed at it. I saw that the title was in runes; I had never learned to read them. As I looked, a tear splashed on to the embossed symbols.

"Why do you think your mother left you that book, Miss Dawson?" asked Scrimwazz.

"She ... she knew I liked books," said Sian in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve.

"Your mother left you many books, Miss Dawson, yet she named this book to be given to you directly. Why is that?"

"I don't know. She must have thought it would help me to remember her ... and that I would enjoy it again."

"Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with your mother?"

"No, I didn't," said Sian, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "And if the Ministry hasn't found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will."

She held the book close to her chest, the way a child would hug their favourite teddy bear, and suppressed a sob. Chris reached to hold Sian's hand and Chrissie rubbed her back. Scrimwazz turned back to the will.

 _"'To my second child, Miss Christina Mary Winifred Dawson, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that she will remember me when she uses it.'"_

Scrimwazz now took from the bag an object that I had seen before: it looked something like a silver cigarette lighter but it had, I knew, the power to suck all light from a place, and restore it, with a simple click. Scrimwazz leaned forwards and passed the Deluminator to Chrissie, who took it and turned it over in her fingers, looking stunned.

"That is a valuable object," said Scrimwazz, watching Chrissie. "It may even be unique. Certainly it is of Crighton's own design. Why would she have left you an item so rare?"

Chrissie shook her head, looking bewildered, as her own eyes filled with tears.

"Your mother could have left you with any gift, Miss Dawson," Scrimwazz persevered. "Yet she bequeathed this to you. Why is that? To what use did she think you would put her Deluminator?"

"Put out lights, I s'pose," mumbled Chrissie. "What else could I do with it?"

Evidently, Scrimwazz had no suggestions. After squinting at Chrissie for a moment or two, she turned back to Crighton's will.

 _"'To my third child, my adopted son, Mr Christopher James Rickers, I leave him a vial of Phoenix Fire Potion, so that if others feel cold, he will be there to warm them up.'"_

And Scrimwazz pulled out of the bag a large bottle of potion that glowed scarlet and gold and handed it to Chris, who took it from her gently.

"This potion was designed by your mother, Mr Rickers," said Scrimwazz. "She used the tears and a tail feather from her own phoenix with a few other ingredients mixed in. She then had it tested on her own students in the hospital wing, with Matron's permission, and he results were extraordinary as we at the Ministry later learned. Just one drop is all that is needed to heal and strengthen any sick patient. Did you ever discuss potions and antidotes with your mother, Mr Rickers?"

"No, we never did," said Chris, who looked confused as to why his mother would give him something so special.

"Then why would she give you something like this?" Scrimwazz asked him. "Why did your mother give you this when she could have given you anything else she possessed?"

Chris thought about it for a few moments before he answered carefully, "Because she trusts me ... and she knew that I would be the one to be there and care for others in case Sian was never around. She knew that I am more important to the group than I give myself credit for, and that in time I would understand just how much, and that my caring nature would come in handy when I would least expect it and when someone close to me will need me."

Chris seemed to be speaking more to himself than Scrimwazz s he finished this thought. Sian, Chrissie and I stared at him. Scrimwazz turned to the will again.

 _"'To Kiara Nala Pride-Lander,'"_ she read, and my insides contracted with a sudden excitement, _"'I leave the Snitch she caught in her first Quidditch match at Dragon Mort, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'"_

As Scrimwazz pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly and I could not help feeling a definite sense of anti-climax.

"Why did Crighton leave you this Snitch?" asked Scrimwazz.

"No idea," I said. "For the reasons you just read out, I suppose ... to remind me what you can get if you ... persevere and whatever it was."

"You think this is a mere symbolic keepsake, then?"

"I suppose so," I said. "What else could it be?"

"I'm asking the questions," said Scrimwazz, shifting a little in her seat. Dusk was falling outside, now; the fire and the lamps in the library were glowing brighter by the second.

"I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch," Scrimwazz said to me. "Why is that?"

Sian laughed derisively.

"Oh, it can't be a reference to the fact Kiara's a great Seeker, that's way too obvious," she said. "There must be a secret message from Ma hidden in the icing!"

"I don't think there's anything in the icing," said Scrimwazz, "but a Snitch would be a very good place for hiding a small object. You know why, I'm sure?"

I shrugged. Sian, however, answered: I thought that answering questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge.

"Because Snitches have flesh memories," she said.

"What?" Chris, Chrissie and I said together; the three of us consider Sian's Quidditch knowledge as negligible, after all.

"Correct," said Scrimwazz. "A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch," she held up the tiny golden ball, "will remember your touch, Pride-Lander. It occurs to me that Crighton, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever her other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will open for you."

My heart was beating rather fast. I was sure that Scrimwazz was right. How could I avoid taking the Snitch with my bare hand in front of the Minister?

"You don't say anything," said Scrimwazz. "Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?"

"No," I said, still wondering how I could appear to touch the Snitch without really doing so. If only I knew Legilimency, really knew it, and could read Sian's mind; I could practically hear her brain whirring beside me.

"Take it," said Scrimwazz quietly.

I met the Minister's yellow eyes and I knew I had no option but to obey. I held out my hand and Scrimwazz leaned forwards again and placed the Snitch, slowly and deliberately, into my palm.

Nothing happened. As my fingers closed around the Snitch, its tired wings fluttered and were still. Scrimwazz, Chris, Sian and Chrissie continued to gaze avidly at the now partially concealed ball, as if still hoping it might transform in some way.

"That was dramatic," I said coolly. Chris, Sian and Chrissie all laughed.

"That's all, then, is it?" asked Sian, making to prise herself off her seat.

"Not quite," said Scrimwazz, who looked bad-tempered now. "Crighton left you a second bequest, Pride-Lander."

"What is it?" I said, excitement rekindling.

Scrimwazz did not bother to read from the will this time.

"The sword of Louisa Lion-Heart," she said.

Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I all stiffened. I looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimwazz did not pull the sword from the leather pouch which, in any case, looked much too small to contain it.

"So where is it?" I asked suspiciously.

"Unfortunately," said Scrimwazz, "that sword was not Crighton's to give away. The sword of Louisa Lion-Heart is an important historical artefact, and as such, belongs - "

"It belongs to Kiara!" said Sian hotly. "It chose her, she was the one who found it, it came to her out of the Sorting Chest - "

"According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Lion-Heart," said Scrimwazz. "That does not make it the exclusive property of Miss Pride-Lander, whatever Crighton may have decided." Scrimwazz scratched her withered cheek, scrutinising me. "Why do you think - ?"

"Crighton wanted to give me the sword?" I said, struggling to keep my temper. "Maybe she thought it would look nice on my wall."

"This is not a joke, Pride-Lander!" growled Scrimwazz. "Was it because Crighton believed that only the sword of Louisa Lion-Heart could defeat the Heir of Snake-Eyes? Did she wish to give you that sword, Pride-Lander, because she believed, as so many do, that you are the one destined to destroy She Who Must Not Be Named?"

"Interesting theory," I said. "Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Zira? Maybe the Ministry should put some people on to that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators, or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So is this what you've been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying, I was nearly one of them, Zira chased me across three counties, she killed Crazy-Head Grumpy, but there's been no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!"

"You go too far!" shouted Scrimwazz, standing up; I jumped up to my feet too. Scrimwazz took out her wand and pointed it straight at my chest, her face set, ready to attack.

"Oi!" said Chris, he and Chrissie both jumping to their feet and raising their own wands, but I said, "No! D'you want to give her an excuse to arrest us?"

"Remembered you're not at school, have you?" said Scrimwazz, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Remembered that I am not Crighton, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Pride-Lander, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old girl to tell me how to do my job! It's time you learned some respect!"

"It's time you earned it," I said.

"That is enough!" said a strong, loud voice suddenly, slamming her hand down on the table and rising to her feet. It was Sian, and she was angry and immediately in control. "All of you will put your wands away. _Now!_ "

"Miss Dawson, you cannot tell me what to do. I am the Minister for Magic, and - " Scrimwazz began, but Sian cut across her.

"Ma'am, you may be the Minister for Magic, but this is my house, and I would appreciate it if you lowered your wand," Sian said firmly. She then added, "You will also do well to remember that my family is protecting Kiara and her family here, and that it would not do well for you of all people to attack her, now, would it?"

Scrimwazz's face seemed to relax, and she glanced from her wand to me, taking a couple of steps back from the table as she did so. She seemed to regret her loss of temper.

"You're right, Miss Dawson," growled Scrimwazz. "I ... regret your attitude," she said, looking me full in the face once more. "You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you - what Crighton - desired. "We ought to be working together."

"I don't like your methods, Minister," I said. "Remember?"

For the second time, I raised my right fist, and displayed to Scrimwazz the scars that still showed white on the back of it, spelling _I must not tell lies_. Scrimwazz's expression hardened. She turned away without another word and limped from the room. Chrissie got up and hurried after her; she came back a couple of minutes later, saying, "She's gone!"

As soon as she said that, Sian shook her head and looked at me, her mouth set in a firm, grim line, looking more like her old self than ever, but I was confused as to why she was looking at me that way.

"What?"

She closed her eyes, heaved a deep breath for patience, opened them and said, "Kiara, I understand why you are not impressed by the Minister's actions - we all do - but picking a fight with her is not wise. This is why you never mess with anyone above your station and rank: it gets you nowhere, and doesn't do you any favours whatsoever. You need to learn to pick your battles, Kiara, because if you keep on letting the recklessly impulsive side of your brain lead you, you will end up in very hot water which we will not be able to help you out of, try as we might."

I thought about Sian's words carefully and I realised that she was right, and as they sank in, I found myself ashamed of how I had lashed out at the Minister, though I did not admit it to my friends at the time. Sian seemed to understand for she said nothing, but picked up the book her mother left her, holding it as gently as she would a newborn baby and said, "We've been gone for too long, the others will be wondering where we've got to. Come, let's go rejoin the party."

Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the four objects Scrimwazz had given us were passed from hand to hand. Everyone exclaimed over _The Tales of Willow the Writer_ , the Deluminator and the Phoenix Fire Potion and lamented the fact that Scrimwazz had refused to pass on the sword, but none of them could offer any suggestion as to why Crighton would have left me an old Snitch. As Mr Dawson examined the Deluminator for the third or fourth time, Mum said tentatively, "Kiara, sweetheart, everyone's awfully hungry, we didn't like to start without you ... shall Sian and I serve dinner now?"

We all ate rather hurriedly and then, after a hasty chorus of "Happy Birthday" and much gulping of cake, the party broke up. Mina, who was invited to the wedding the following day but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Manor, left to set up a tent for herself in the garden.

"Meet me upstairs," I whispered to Chris, Sian and Chrissie, while we helped my parents restore the garden to its normal state. "After everyone's gone to bed."

Up in my room, Chrissie examined her Deluminator and Chris gave me a small chocolate soufflé with a single candle in, a small gesture, but one I was still grateful for, which I told him. Chris just smiled and place the soufflé on my nightstand, but not after I had blown out the candle. I then filled up Mina's Mokeskin purse, not with gold, but with those items I most prized, apparently worthless though some of them were: the Scallywag's Map, the shard of Pumbaa's enchanted mirror and O.B.W.'s locket. I pulled the strings tight and slipped the purse around my neck, then sat on my bed holding the old Snitch and watching its wings flutter feebly. At last, Sian tapped on the door and tiptoed inside.

 _"Muffliato,"_ she whispered, waving her wand in the direction of the other bedrooms along the corridor.

"Thought you didn't approve of that spell?" said Chrissie.

"Times change," said Sian. "Now, show us that Deluminator."

Chrissie obliged at once. Holding it up in front of her, she clicked it. The solitary lamp I had lit went out at once.

"The thing is," whispered Sian through the dark, "we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."

There was a small _click_ , and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated us all once more.

"Still, it's cool," said Chrissie, a little defensively. "And from what they said, Ma designed it herself!"

"Of course she did, she told me that herself, but surely she would have given you something more than something that helps us turn the lights off!"

"D'you think she knew the Ministry would confiscate her will and examines everything she left us?" I asked.

"Definitely," said Sian. "She couldn't tell us in the will why she was leaving us these things, but that still doesn't explain ..."

"... why she couldn't have given us a hint when she was alive?" asked Chrissie.

"Well, exactly," said Sian, now flicking through _The Tales of Willow the Writer_. "If these things are important enough to pass on right under the nose of the Ministry, you'd think she'd have let us know why ... unless she thought it was obvious?"

"If that's true, then can one of you explain why I got this, because I really don't understand why I've got a healing potion," said Chris, holding up the Phoenix Fire Potion bottle.

"Hmm ... even I can't figure that one out," said Sian thoughtfully. "But I'm sure that Ma knew what she was doing even if we don't, and I'm sure that things will make sense in time."

"That may be, Sian," said Chrissie, "but as brilliant as Ma was, you can't deny that she was a strange woman. Leaving Kiara an old Snitch - what the hell was that about?"

"I've no idea," said Sian. "When Scrimwazz made you take it, Kiara, I was so sure that something was going to happen!"

"Yeah, well," I said, my pulse quickening as I raised the Snitch in my fingers. "I wasn't going to try too hard in front of Scrimwazz, was I?"

"What do you mean?" asked Sian.

"The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?" I said. "Don't you remember?"

Sian simply looked bemused. Chrissie, however, gasped, pointing frantically from myself to the Snitch and back again, but before she could find her voice, Chris answered for her.

"That was the one you nearly swallowed!"

"Exactly," I said, and with my heart beating fast, I pressed my mouth to the Snitch.

It did not open. Frustration and bitter disappointment welled up inside me: I lowered the golden sphere, but then Sian cried out.

"Writing! There's writing on it, quick, look!"

I nearly dropped the Snitch in surprise and excitement. Sian was quite right. Engraved upon the smooth golden surface, where seconds before there had been nothing, were five words written in the thin slanting handwriting that I recognised as Crighton's:

 _I open at the close._

I had barely read them when the words vanished again.

" _'I open at the close'_ ... What's that supposed to mean?"

Chris, Sian and Chrissie shook their heads, looking blank.

"I open at the close ... at the _close_ ... I open at the close ..."

But no matter how often we repeated the words, with many different inflections, we were unable to wring any more meaning from them.

"And the sword," said Chrissie finally, when we had at last abandoned our attempts to divine the meaning in the Snitch's inscription. "Why did she want Kiara to have the sword?"

"And why couldn't she have just told me?" I said quietly. "It was _there_ , it was right there on the wall of her office during all our talks last year! If she wanted me to have it, why didn't she just give it to me then?"

I felt as though I were sitting in an examination with a question I ought to have been able to answer in front of me, my brain slow and unresponsive. Was there something I had missed in the long talks with Crighton last year? Ought I to know what it all meant? Had Crighton expected me to understand?

"And as for this book," said Sian, " _The Tales of Willow the Writer_ ... Of all the books Ma left me, why is this the only one voiced in her will?"

"Yeah, that's what I don't get, either," said Chrissie, frowning.

"Maybe she thought it would be a reminder of her as you read it, Sian, so that you can read it through her eyes ... so to speak?" Chris suggested.

Sian looked thoughtful. I, on the other hand, had never heard of the book, so I said, "What are _The Tales of Willow the Writer_?"

Chris, Sian and Chrissie were all looking at me as though I had just grown another head.

"You've never heard of _The Tales of Willow the Writer_?" said Chrissie incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not!" I said, surprised. "My grandmothers told me few things about the wizarding world growing up, and that book was not one of the things they mentioned. So do you three know them, then?"

Chris, Sian and Chrissie continued to stare at me. I was surprised that Chris and Chrissie were aware of a book Sian knew about. Chrissie, however, was the first to look bemused by my surprise.

"Oh, come on! Some of the old kids' stories are supposed to be Willow's, aren't they? _The Song of the Sea_ ... _The Potion Princess_ ... _Harey Gary and His Chuckling Bush_ ..."

"Excuse me?" I said, giggling. "What was that last one?"

"Come off it!" said Chrissie, looking in disbelief at me. "You must've heard of Harey Gary - "

"Chrissie, you're forgetting something here," said Chris patiently.

"What? What is it I'm forgetting now?" Chrissie moaned.

"That Kiara has never heard of these stories before," said Sian. "She's known stories like _The Little Mermaid_ and _Beauty and the Beast_ when she was little. Isn't that right, Kiara?"

I nodded and said, "So those are children's stories?"

"Yeah," said Chrissie uncertainly, "I mean, that's just what you hear, you know, that most of these old stories came from Willow. I don't know what they're like in the original versions."

"So why did Ma want to give them to me? Unless, like Chris said, it's a way in which I can remember her by?"

Something creaked downstairs which made us all jump.

"I think we should be getting to bed now, you know," whispered Sian. "It wouldn't do to oversleep tomorrow."

"No," agreed Chrissie. "Simba'll kill us if we sleep in tomorrow, and you can imagine the effect that'll have on everyone. We'll see you in the morning, Kiara."

"Yeah. Night, Kiara," said Sian.

"Sweet dreams," said Chris.

"Night, guys," I said. Once they had left the room, I thought about getting ready for bed, but then I remembered my grandmothers' gift and the letter Grandmother Sarabi had written me. I quickly jumped off my bed, opened the extra bag, took out the unwrapped box and the unopened letter and took them to my bed. I put the box down carefully next to the soufflé Chris made me before I ripped open the envelope, took out the letter and read it through carefully.

 _My dearest Kiara,_

 _If you are reading this when I think you are reading this, then happy birthday, my darling. If you are reading this beforehand, however, then I am disappointed that you could not wait a few more days to read this, but I understand why._

 _What Sarafina and I have got for your birthday, Kiara, we have been working on for quite a while. It's something for you to remember us by whenever you are missing us. We hope that you like it and will use it often._

 _Now then, sweetie, I know that you will have a long and difficult road ahead of you, there is no denying it, but remember that there are people out there who have faith in you. Even if they are too scared to say anything out loud, Kiara, they are. Believe in yourself and the people who believe in you, my darling, and that will get you through._

 _Sarafina and I will be thinking of you every second of every day, Kiara, and we love you and are extremely proud of you. Never forget that._

 _Well, I hope you have had a good birthday, Kiara. Sarafina and I wish you the best of luck on your mission. May God bless you, my darling, and may He always watch over you._

 _All our love,_

 _Your grandmothers,_

 _Sarabi and Sarafina_

I felt tears come to my eyes at Grandmother Sarabi's words, which I didn't know I needed until that moment. I held the letter to my chest, sending a prayer of thanks to God for my good, caring grandmothers who raised me for sixteen years of my life. I also let out a few tears of thanks as I prayed, before I dried my eyes, put the letter aside and lifted up the box. I unwrapped it and gasped at what I saw inside.

It was a jewellery box, made of redwood and was decorated with leaves and vines around the edges, which were painted gold. The lock in the middle was a half-sun, half-moon joined together. I pressed it and with a little _click_ , it opened, and if I was impressed by the exterior of the box, it had nothing on the interior. Nothing at all.

There were places for me to put my jewellery in at the bottom, just like in every jewellery box, but this wasn't what awed me. Inside the lid, instead of a mirror, was a moving portrait. It showed a beautiful summer's day in Wales: my grandmothers' cottage was in the background with Timmy, Crooks and Harold, who was in his cage. In front of them stood my grandmothers and I, their arms around me, the three of us smiling and happy, with not a care in the world. And to top it all, there was a Celtic lullaby playing a beautiful melody, which somehow completed the picture.

I started crying more then, for all that I had lost and for the days in my childhood that I would never get back, the simpler days when I was not such a big deal to people, when I had nothing to worry about but what was going to happen when I went with my aunt, uncle and cousin on Carol's next birthday, instead of being a beacon of hope in a world full of pain, terror, destruction and death.

Once I had cried all I could, I put the music box on my dresser and got ready for bed and put the lamp out. When I got into bed, I let the calming Celtic notes of the lullaby playing from a loop from the box surround me, sending me to sleep. A couple of doors down, I could hear the same melody that my jewellery box was playing, and I couldn't help but wonder how Sian knew about it as I drifted off to sleep ...

 **SIAN**

As soon as Sian closed the door in her room, she flung _The Tales of Willow the Writer_ on to her bed, but immediately regretted her actions - not just for how she mistreated the book, but because of who the book had belonged to. She approached her bed slowly, sat down and gently lifted the book. She studied it carefully, her hands travelling all over it, remembering as she did so how her mother's hands had once held it, and her mother's voice as she read to she and her brothers and sisters. And now it was hers. Sian held the book to her chest, wondering how she was going to be strong enough to relive it without her mother there.

There came a sudden loud knock at the door; Sian almost dropped _The Tales of Willow the Writer_ as she jumped. Regaining her composure swiftly, she laid the book gently aside and told whoever was there to come in.

The door opened to reveal her father, who was holding a couple of boxes in his arms. He shut the door and sat down next to Sian on her bed after she had picked up _The Tales of Willow the Writer_. Sian saw her father smiling at her gently and she leaned into him, needing her father's warmth and comfort more than she thought she would have, as she felt him kiss the top of her head and rub her arm. For a while, father and daughter stayed like that, until Sian pulled back slightly and asked her father, "Why are you here at this time of night, Dad?"

Mr Dawson sighed and said, "Because I have a couple of things here that arrived in my room not too long ago that I am sure your mother wanted me to give you now. First there's this - "

He passed her quite a large, square wooden box with a letter attached to the top, which Sian put aside with _The Tales of Willow the Writer_ , before she turned back to her father, who was holding out a long velvet box to her, his expression gentle. Sian took it, opened it and gasped at what she saw, for inside the box was her mother's phoenix pendant, newly polished, the emeralds along the chain and in the eyes shining brightly. Sian felt tears spring to her eyes again, the pain still as fresh as the day she lost her mother.

"She always wanted you to have it," her father said gently beside her, drawing Sian back to him. She looked at her father, who continued, "If she had not died, this would have been your mother's gift to you the day you turned seventeen."

Sian then felt the tears that she had been holding back start to fall as her father pulled her close to him again. Once she had calmed down she asked her father, "Can you put it on for me, Dad?"

Her father smiled and took the pendant carefully out of the box. Holding the chain gently in his hands he placed it as delicately as he could over Sian's head. Sian held the heavy, silver phoenix in her hand, gazing blearily at it, until she looked at her father, smiling weakly at him. He just smiled and said, "You look so much like your mother."

Sian then felt fresh tears leak down her cheeks as she said hoarsely, "I miss her, Dad. So much."

"We all do, sweetheart," said her father, kissing the crown of her head again. "We all do."

Sian's tears kept falling and Mr Dawson continued to hold and comfort his daughter until she was calm enough. When she had calmed down somewhat, Mr Dawson said to Sian, "Well, I think it's time we both got some well-needed rest, Siany. Big day tomorrow, after all." He then kissed Sian's cheek and said, "Goodnight, love."

"'Night, Dad," said Sian softly, smiling at her father's back as he left the room, silently thanking him for being there for her. As soon as the door closed, Sian's smile faded as she turned to the other box her father had given her. Curious as to why there was an envelope on top, Sian ripped it off, opened it and took out the note inside, which she unfolded and read.

 _My dearest Sian,_

 _I apologise for taking this from you the day you started Dragon Mort (which I know you knew or suspected that it was I that did it). The only reason I did was because you were coming to Dragon Mort, and therefore didn't need it any more, but I return it to you now with the hope that you can forgive me. Use it to remember me - remember us - when you play it, my darling._

 _Love you always,_

 _Ma_

Sian gasped, shocked at what she had just read. So, her mother had indeed taken the music box from her when she was eleven. "I knew it!" Sian whispered to herself. And her mother was asking her for forgiveness.

Sian gave a small chuckle, shook her head and said to herself, "Of course I forgive you, Ma." She would forgive her mother anything, after all.

Sian then ran to her armoire and placed her two index fingers in the centre of the large ornate mirror attached to it, brought them to the top of the glass together, ran them parallel to each other around the mirror until they reached the bottom and drew them back to the centre of the mirror before withdrawing her fingers. Instantly, two shiny silver handles appeared, which Sian grasped and pulled.

Inside the mirror was a treasure trove of sorts, but there was no gold inside, oh no. On the floor, nail polishes of every colour, lipsticks and lip gloss, mascaras, eyeliners and a number of other make-up produce were put in lines in holders to the very back. Bracelets, rings and earrings were put on shelves in random order. On the top shelf was a box that held Sian's most prized and valuable possessions, and above that, necklaces were hung from pegs. It was common knowledge to all the Dawsons that most of the jewellery Sian owned was given to her every birthday and Christmas by their Great-Aunt Lizzie, and rumour has it that she is going to give Sian every piece of jewellery she owns before she dies.

Some pieces Sian kept to herself, and if her sisters liked the looks of any of them, Sian gave them to them freely. But the necklace Sian was looking for was not of her Great-Aunt Lizzie's, oh no. The piece she was looking for was the only one her mother had ever made for her.

The chain was gold and long and the jewel at the end was small and shaped like a flower, painted aquamarine blue and decorated gold. On the back in minuscule writing it read _Together at D.M.M.A._ in aquamarine blue, as the rest of the jewel was metal and was gold. Smiling satisfactorily, Sian took it down from its peg, closed the mirror and went back to her bed.

Sian placed the necklace on her knee and opened the wooden box, revealing an ornate, oval music box, painted aquamarine blue and decorated with golden patterns. Around one side was a small dent where the flower jewel was supposed to go. _I hope this works_ , Sian thought to herself, as she picked up the jewel part of the necklace, placed it in the dent and turned it clockwise three times.

It worked. Sian sighed in relief as the lid opened slowly, the slow strands of a beautiful Celtic lullaby playing as the gold dust inside sprung into the air, forming a phoenix, which circled the room once before going back into the music box, becoming dust as it went, only to swirl and transform into Sian as a child, sitting on her mother's knee, the two of them looking at each other lovingly, seemingly talking animatedly to each other and laughing at something the adult Sian could not hear.

Sian moved the boxes, note from her mother and music box on to her armoire, making sure the music box was facing her bed, as new tears formed in her eyes. When Sian had got herself ready for bed, extinguished the light from her lamp and got into bed, she allowed herself to cry again, crying for all the simple, happy, blissful days she and her mother had together, and for all of the missed opportunities, and as Sian's sobs sent her to sleep, her last coherent thought was that all she wanted, more than anything else in the world, was for one more precious and perfect day with her mother.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: So, here we come to the first part of the wedding chapter. I decided to split it in half because there is just so much to put in that it would be too long to fit into one chapter. In this part you are going to see and learn about more of the Dawson family, so brace yourself for that. Enjoy this chapter and I will put up the next part same time next week.**

 **Chapter 9**

 **The Wedding - Part 1**

 **KIARA**

Three o'clock the following afternoon found Chris, Joe, Jack, Max, Ben and Dave outside the great, white marquee in the back garden, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests, all of them clutching seating plans. I could see them from my room, looking uncomfortable in their dress robes in the baking-hot sun. I was getting ready in my room, having taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion, so that I resembled a chubby, auburn-haired girl with bright blue eyes, my parents having done the same, thanks to Tanya and Geri, who had stolen hairs from an auburn-haired Muggle family in Southport. The plan was to introduce me as "Cousin Maria", and my parents and little brother as "Uncle Mickey, Aunt Elsa and Cousin Jim" and trust to the great number of Dawson relatives to camouflage us.

I was currently tying my hair back in my room, listening to the sounds of talk, laughter and excitement issuing from the floor above where the Dawson sisters were all currently congregated. I was wearing a golden dress that reached just below my knees with a square neckline and thin straps that was tied with a golden ribbon across the middle, so that if the Polyjuice Potion started to wear off and I was still in it, I could adjust the ribbon to make sure that I didn't become exposed. I put on my black shoes and made my way downstairs.

I ran into Tanya and Geri downstairs, who were both dressed in green, looking rather annoyed about something.

"Hey, guys," I said, joining them. "Shall we go?"

"Sure," muttered Tanya sulkily. "You know, when I get married," she said, as the three of us left the house and made for the marquee, "I won't be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and Mum won't be there to stop me."

"Why?" I said, knowing about the woman the Dawsons called "Aunt Pam".

"Because we've fallen out with her," Geri explained. "Haven't spoken to her in a few years, and she hasn't bothered with us, either. Not that we're fussed, mind. She wasn't much of a mother to us. Besides, most of the family's fallen out with her; I'm sure you've heard about Uncle Matt falling out with her?"

I nodded. "Sian told me. Why did he fall out with her? Do you two know?"

"No," said Tanya. "All we know is that she said something nasty to him, and he hasn't been in touch with her since. She can say nasty things sometimes, our mum can. You know, sometimes I think she cares too much about her happiness and what she has to say that she doesn't see how much she's hurting people, not to mention she can't stand to see anyone else happy."

Geri nodded. "That's why she's not coming to Sam's wedding."

"Sam fell out with her too?" I said, surprised. "When did that happen?"

"Some time last year," said Geri sadly. "She came home one night, really angry, saying that she's never speaking to Mum again because she doesn't approve of the marriage, and that's all we could get out of her, so please don't bring that up today, Kiara?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't dream of it," I said quickly, trying not to imagine Sam killing me on the dancefloor. The twins smiled at my thoughtfulness, and I decided to change the subject quickly. "So who else isn't coming to this thing?"

"Well, Uncle Andy isn't," said Tanya unconcernedly. "He's an idiot, though, and no one's heard from him in years. Danny, our brother, isn't coming, but that's just because he's too close to Mum. And then there's Perdy. She fell out with Mum the same time we did, Kiara, but she's not coming because of how we feel about her, and quite honestly, who needs her here being a pompous killjoy?"

She and Geri snorted at this comment. Looking at them both, I thought I saw a twinge of sadness in the twins' faces at Perdy's no-show, but I decided to keep quiet on this. Seeing as we were still quite a way from the boys, I asked them, "Who should I look out for in your family, anyway? The good ones, I mean?"

"They're all good, Kiara," said Geri, "but I suppose if you're going to look out for anyone in our family, the first person to spot would be Nana Lorna. She lovely lady. Old, ditzy, but lovely. And she somehow manages to always smell like lavender." Geri's smile faded. "But she's not doing so good these days, though."

"How so?" I asked.

"She fell ill - really ill - a few months back," said Tanya sadly. "But she's strong enough to come to the wedding, though. She wants to be here, so that's enough for us all. She'll stay long enough to say hello to Sam and a few of us before Uncle Maly takes her home."

"So there's no chance for him to be the life and soul of the party this time," said Geri, a sad smile forming on her face.

"No," said Tanya. "But I am glad that there'll be plenty of people here, because I really want to avoid Aunty Sue at this thing."

"Oh, I know," said Geri empathetically. "But we're not the only ones who don't like her when she's had a few drinks down her. Most of the family don't; even Sian doesn't, though she'll never admit it."

"Why? What's so bad about this Aunty Sue of yours?" I asked.

"Well, Kiara," said Tanya, "everyone prefers it when she's sober, because she's a nicer person. But when she starts drinking, she becomes a different person who starts saying all sorts about anything and anybody, and she hardly ever stops talking. The only time she does stop is when she falls asleep, and even that can take a while! Honestly, it's best to have a strong headache cure when you're around her - either that or just avoid her altogether. That's what we do."

Geri nodded in agreement. "I tell you, when Aunty Sue starts gulping down the booze, she could give Great-Aunt Lizzie a run for her money. Which reminds me, Kiara," she added, turning to me, "try and stay out of Great-Aunt Lizzie's way whenever possible."

"Why?"

"Because she's a right nightmare, that's why," said Geri. "She's scary, rude to everybody, and next to her Sian's a sweetheart. Plus we're all convinced that she was a vulture in a past life, not just from the way she looks, but how she circles you when she inspects you."

"Yeah, well, speaking of inspections, you're getting one right now, Kiara," said Tanya teasingly, nodding to the mouth of the marquee.

We had now come to where the boys were stood. They all stopped talking as we approached and eyed us appreciatively. My eyes followed to where Tanya was looking and I saw that Chris was looking at me in a way that made me feel like I was the most beautiful thing in the world to him. I blushed profusely and ducked my head. After a few seconds, I felt Chris' fingers tuck under my chin and raise my eyes to meet his, his gaze showing nothing but tenderness and love.

"I know it's you, Kiara," he said gently. "The Polyjuice Potion may have changed how you look, but on the inside you are the same girl I fell in love with. Feel better now?"

I didn't know how Chris knew how nervous I felt, but he had indeed reassured me, so I nodded, stunned at how well he knew me, and nodded. His smile grew wider and he hugged me. I lay my head on his chest, letting his warmth and his scent calm me.

The spell was broken by a mixture of "Aww"'s and uncomfortable coughing around us, which made me blush even more and made Chris groan loudly. Breaking apart, we saw Tanya and Geri trying not to laugh, and the boys shuffling their feet nervously.

"You know you're going to have to try and keep those feelings of yours under control today, Chris?" said Geri, smirking as Tanya laughed even harder.

"I know, I know," Chris moaned. I touched his cheek and turned him to face me.

"Hey, I know it's hard," I said gently, "but think of it as good practice for when we go. And if it'll make you feel any better, this is hard for me, too."

Chris looked surprised at this. "Really?"

"I may not show it, but yes, really," I told him.

His features softened at my words and he looked like he was about to say something, but Geri's next words stopped him.

"Yeah, well, you might want to start controlling your emotions now, Chris," she said, "because guests are coming - look!"

We all turned to face the gates, which had been opened not too long ago and would close once the last guest had entered, and beyond which we could see bright coloured figures appearing, one by one, out of nowhere. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden towards the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on witch's hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the wizards' cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of bees - that were hovering with butterflies lazily over the garden - as the crowd approached the tent.

"Excellent, I think I see a few Coltee cousins," said Geri, craning her neck for a better look. "I think they might need help understand out English customs, though, so I should just - "

But before she had even finished speaking, Tanya was already striding up to them; darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading the procession she said, "Here - _perettez-moi_ to _assister vous_ ," to a pair of dashing French lads, who chuckled and allowed her to escort them inside. Geri decided to stay outside with me, as we watched the boys deal with the middle-aged witches, a rather old deaf couple and some of the Dawson cousins, who greeted Tanya, Geri and I as they passed.

"Wotcher," said a familiar voice. Turning towards the gates, I saw Todd and Meers at the front of the queue. She had turned blonde for the occasion. "Matt told us you were the auburn-haired one. Sorry about last night," she added in a whisper. "The Ministry's being very anti-werewolf at the moment and we thought our presence might not do you any favours."

"It's fine, I understand," I said, speaking more to Meers than Todd. Meers gave me a swift smile, but as they followed Max inside, I saw Meers' face fall again into lines of misery. I did not understand it, but there was no time to dwell on the matter, for a loud crash had grabbed my attention: Mina was causing a certain amount of disruption. Having misunderstood Ben's directions, she had sat herself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat aside for her in the back row, but on the five seats that now resembled a large pile of golden matchsticks.

While Mr Dawson repaired the damage and Mina shouted apologies at anybody who would listen, I watched Chris coming back to the front of the marquee again. Catching my eye, we smiled at each other, but then he froze, his smile disappearing and his eyes widening at someone over my shoulder. Confused as to what made Chris act like this, I turned around and found myself face to face with the most eccentric-looking witch I have ever seen. Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair the texture of candyfloss, she wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of her nose and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like three fingers pointing left, right and centre attached to a circle, glistened from a silver chain around her neck.

"Xion Lovedream," she said, extending her hand to me, "my son and I live just over the hill, so kind of the Dawsons to invite us. But I think you know my son Lincoln?" she added to Chris.

"Yes," said Chris. "Isn't he with you?"

"Yes, he's just lingering in the garden to have a good look at the extraordinarily charming house of yours. He'll be with me in a moment, I'm sure."

"Thank you for saying that, ma'am," said Chris, before he led a party of warlocks into the marquee.

Lincoln then rushed up.

"Hello, Kiara!" he said.

"Er - my name's Maria," I said, flummoxed.

"Oh, have you changed that too?" he asked brightly.

"How did you know - ?"

"Oh, just your expression," he said.

Like his mother, Lincoln was wearing bright yellow robes, which he had accessorised with a large sunflower in his lapel. Once you got over the general brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least he didn't have a necklace of Butterbeer corks around his neck. Xion, who was deep in conversation with a acquaintance, had missed the exchange between Lincoln and myself. Bidding the witch farewell, she turned to her son, who said, "Mammy, this is really Kiara Pride-Lander, disguised because of the Love Destroyers, I think."

Xion's eyes became slightly more cross-eyed at that, due to her surprise more than anything, before she smiled widely, took my hand in both her own, shook it vigorously and said so that only Lincoln and I could hear her, "Miss Pride-Lander, it is an honour too meet you. I'd just like to say that we at _The Mystics_ are behind you one hundred per-cent and finds what _The Squabbler_ 's saying about Crighton to be both shocking and appalling."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, as Xion let go of my hand. She cast me one more smile before she and Lincoln went inside the marquee.

Chris and I then saw Sian, Chrissie, Beth, Kestrel and Merida approaching, all wearing long, flowing dresses in their favourite colour: Sian in dark blue, Chrissie in bright green, Beth in violent red, Kestrel in pale yellow and Merida in light purple. The latter girls all had their hair down, except for Sian, who wore hers up in an elegant bun atop her head.

"Wow, you guys look great!" said Chris, smiling appreciatively at each of them, and I had to agree; their clothes really did suit them.

"Thanks, Chris," said Sian, trying to smile in spite of herself because of the day, but not quite managing it. The other Dawson sisters, however, blushed and giggled at their brother's praise.

"How's Sam?" I said, wondering how she was.

"Oh, she's fine," said Sian, a little more relaxed now that the attention was off her. "She's putting the finishing touches to her hair as we speak and Dad's up there with her now."

I then noticed that Sian had something silver around her neck. Looking closer, I saw that it was Crighton's old phoenix pendant, which she must have let to Sian in her will. Seeing what I was looking at, Sian fingered with it nervously. I looked away quickly, glad that Chrissie had decided to speak.

"You know, Chris, Great-Aunt Lizzie's going to disagree with you on how we look," she said.

"Oh please, Chrissie," said Sian, looking, for a second, like her old self again. "We all know that Great-Aunt Lizzie is rude to us and complains about us all, anyway. Why would a wedding change her?"

"Sian's right," said Max, he, Joe, Jack, Ben and Dave coming back from inside the marquee. "Wedding or not, Great-Aunt Lizzie's always going to be the same miserable, stern old woman she's always been."

"Brace yourselves, then," said Tanya, "because she's heading our way. Look."

She nodded at a tall, upright old woman, making her way towards us in firm strides, despite her age, having nothing but a staff for support. She wore dark purple, had a beaky nose, dark beady eyes and a thin mouth that was in a very straight line, which made me wonder if she ever smiled at all. Her dark silver hair was held in a bun not unlike Sian's, and I could see what Geri meant by comparing her to a vulture.

As she came closer to us, I noticed that all the Dawsons and Tanya and Geri seemed to stiffen, and the air, which had been warm a few seconds ago, seemed to freeze and grow colder under the woman's steely gaze. She stopped in front of us and beheld us all steadily.

"Good afternoon," she said slowly in a steely voice.

"Good afternoon, Great-Aunt Elizabeth," the Dawsons and Tanya and Geri said automatically.

I inwardly shuddered, somehow realising that this woman would not like to see any sign of weakness, which none of the others were showing - not even Chrissie, who was struggling not to show her fear.

Great-Aunt Elizabeth's eyes surveyed each of us in particular; she barked insults at us in a harsh voice that sounded like a screech:

"David, your tie is loose - Benjamin, straighten your hair - Jack and Joseph, you should both wash your hands, your fingernails are a disgrace - Maximus, your hair is far too long, welcome back - Christopher, get rid of those shoes, they are disturbing on the eyes - Merida, you're too thin for your own good - Bethany, that shade of red is an eyesore - Kestrel, must you always wear yellow? It makes you look sickly - Christina, you can never look good in anything, why must you try? - Tanya, your ears are lopsided and Geri, that shade of green does not match your eyes."

As she said each - comment - to each of them, most looked untroubled by what Great-Aunt Lizzie had said, apart from Chrissie and Kestrel, who looked hurt by their aunt's harsh words, but Great-Aunt Lizzie paid no attention to them, for her eyes had found Sian's, and her steely gaze seemed to soften slightly.

She took a couple of steps closer to Sian, examining her carefully. Her eyes found the phoenix pendant, and I saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

"I see you are honouring your mother, Sian," she said gently. "She would be proud of you, as am I."

I saw the Dawsons and Tanya and Geri look at each other in shock, and I could see why, for that was the first - and only - compliment she had offered to any of us. Even Sian was shocked by her aunt's kindness, but she quickly smiled and said, "Thank you, Aunt."

"You're welcome, dear," Great-Aunt Lizzie said. Then her mouth became a strict thin line again, her eyes resumed their steely glint and she barked at Sian, "Saying that, your posture needs improving, you have skinny ankles and your wardrobe needs more warm colours to it. You know that, don't you?"

Sian sighed, lowered her head slightly and said, "Yes, Aunt."

"Good," Great-Aunt Lizzie barked. She then caught sight of me and asked, "And who are you?"

Sian, turning to see who her aunt was looking at, said, "Oh, my apologies, aunt. This is Cousin Maria."

"Another one to add to the list of God knows how many Dawsons, eh? You breed like gnomes. Aren't Kiara Pride-Lander and her family here? I was hoping to meet her. I thought you said they are friends of you Dawsons, Sian, or have you merely been boasting?"

"No, Aunt - they couldn't come - they're in hiding - "

"Hmm. Looking after their own, are they? Well I can't say that I'm not surprised. Passed the bride coming down, who is wearing the silver, faun-made tiara I gave to you for your birthday last year, Sian, beautifully. The groom, I suppose, is good-looking enough, but still - _French_. Well, well, find me a good seat, Maximus!" she barked at the youngest Dawson brother, who jumped and ran to his aunt at once, holding out his arm which she took, her fingers gripping his arm like sharp talons. "I am a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long."

Max looked miserable as he led Great-Aunt Lizzie inside, and as soon as she was gone we all breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"Miserable old bat," Chrissie hissed at her retreating back.

"What do you expect, sister?" was all Sian said. The others just nodded, feeling like there was nothing more to be said, and who could blame them?

"Bad-mouthing Lizzie again, Chrissie?" said a man's voice behind us. "Why am I not surprised?"

All of us looked around. There were five people behind us: three women, the two oldest of whom were sat in wheelchairs, and two men, who were also stood. Behind them, a long crowd of people, old and young, were waiting. Looking at the Dawsons, I saw their faces light up as they immediately recognised the people in front of them, and I knew that these people were their relatives.

I kept my attention focused on the five people at the front. The first and only woman who was standing looked to be in her late forties, early fifties. She had light blonde hair, blue-grey eyes, freckles, was short in height and was thin. She was dressed in pale blue robes, and like the other four was smiling warmly.

The first of the men was long, lanky and had dark short hair. He had blue-grey eyes and his skin was dark, as though he had been in the sun. He was friendly enough, but there was something about him that made me think he wasn't a touchy-feely type. He was dressed in black and his hands were resting on the handles of a wheelchair, where the second of the women was sat. she was quite large, with dark skin, a friendly round face, dark brown eyes and black hair tied back. From the way her left hand touched his, I figured that she was his wife.

The second man was tall, thin, light skinned and had very little hair on top, but I could tell that it was dark. He had grey-blue eyes and seemed much more approachable than the first man. He was dressed in black like the man beside him and his hands were holding the handles of a second wheelchair, in which an old woman was sat. She had white bouncy curly hair, a warm smile, blue-grey eyes and had an aura of immense love, kindness and warmth about her that immediately drew you to her. You could tell that she had been ill, for she was very thin, but that did not stop her from smiling. She was wearing lilac and wore pink lipstick on her lips.

The Dawsons immediately ran to them, hugging all of them except the first man (Uncle Maly), for they just got a hello from him. But Sian got the biggest love of all from them.

"Hiya, love," said the first woman, hugging Sian tightly, as the rest of the Dawsons went to guide their cousins into the marquee. "Oooh ... are you all right?"

"Fine, Sue," said Sian, letting go of her aunt. She then turned to Maly.

"Hiya," she said to him.

"Hiya," he said back, his smile growing, as Sian bent down to kiss his wife, who I later learned was called "Aunty Flo". Sian then stood up and faced the second man, who she greeted warmly.

"Uncle Paul!" she screamed joyously, jumping into his arms. Her uncle laughed, spun her around, kissed her cheek and drew back slightly.

"Look at you!" he exclaimed, looking at Sian from head to toe. "I still can't get over how much you've grown."

"Well, if you'd come over these past few years, maybe it wouldn't be such a surprise to you," said Sian smartly. They all shared a laugh at this; even I laughed, glad to see some of the old Sian shining through, if momentarily. Sian then turned to the old woman, and each looked at the other with so much love.

"Hello, Nan."

"Hello, lovee," Sian's nan said warmly. Sian then bent down, kissed her nan on the cheek and hugged her, and her nan kissed her on the cheek. After a long embrace, Sian stepped back and said, "How are you, Nan?"

"Better than I was, lovee," said the old woman, smiling gently. Then her expression turned serious as she asked Sian, "But how are you, more importantly? I know this isn't easy on you ..."

The warmth seemed to leave Sian then, like a rush of icy wind extinguishing a warm fire. The adults seemed to understand that Sian wasn't ready to talk just yet, something which her uncle Maly was not comfortable with, for he quickly said, "Where's Matt, Sian? Where's my brother?"

"Yes, where is Mattew? I want to see him," said Sian's nan, looking around eagerly for her youngest son.

"He's inside, Nan," Sian reassured her, "helping Sam, you know? He's giving her away today. But I'm sure you'll see him at the reception later."

The old woman seemed slightly disappointed, but quickly let it slide. It was then that Sian's aunt Sue spotted me and said, "Who's that over there, Sian?"

Sian turned to where her aunt was looking, smiled at me and beckoned me over. I approached nervously, trying not to lower my gaze from the scrutiny of the other adults, but Sian's warm gaze told me that I had nothing to fear and instantly reassured me. Once I was close enough to them, I stopped, and Sian put her arm around me.

"This," she said to her relatives, "is _Cousin Maria_." She said this pointedly, and I watched as comprehension dawned on each of their faces and Sue exclaimed suddenly, "You're Kiara Pride-Lander!"

We got a lot of looks from the people passing us at that moment, and Sian hissed, "Sue, would you mind keeping your voice down? We did this to protect Kiara and her family. Keep it together, will you?"

Sue nodded and bowed her head. Sian shook her head and turned to me and said, "Kiara, you've already met my Aunt Sue. The man next to her is my Uncle Maly and that's his wife, Flo, who he loves very much. He may not show it, but he does - no offence, Maly, I'm just stating the facts here. Then, we have my Uncle Paul, and this lovely lady is my Nana Lorna," she finished, touching her nan's liver spotted hand lovingly.

"We've heard a lot about you from Matt," said Paul. "He speaks fondly of you."

I looked at Sian for confirmation on this point, but she just shrugged and gave me a look that clearly said "just go with it", so I said, "Thank you, sir. That's very - "

"Hey, none of this formality stuff around us," the man called Maly said. "You've been part of my brother's family for many years now, so think of us as your extended family, OK?"

I nodded, pleased that these people accepted me so quickly, and it made me wonder why, so I asked, "Why are you all being so nice to me? I mean, don't get me wrong, I like it, but I find it odd that you've accepted me this fast after we've only just met."

"That's because Matt's told us all about you," said Sue. "He's told us about all the good you've been to this family - especially our Sian."

"Oh, I haven't been - "

"Oh, don't be so modest, lovee," said Sian's nan. "You've been good to Sian; I can see how much softer she's become under your influence - and Kopa's, too. Now, come here, I want to tell you something."

I approached her, and as I drew nearer, I caught a pleasant whiff of lavender from her, filling me with warmth and love. When I was close enough to her, I sat on the balls of my feet and looked up at her, holding her gaze. She then took my hand in hers, which was surprisingly warm and soft, and when she spoke her tone was gentle but serious.

"Now then, Kiara, we've heard a lot from my Matthew how you've helped some of his children - even Matthew himself! I have waited a long time to thank you in person for saving my son and his children, Kiara, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And because of that, I already consider you a grandchild, so you call me nothing but Nan, do you hear me?"

I chuckled and said, "Yes, Nan."

"Good," she said, smiling, and she kissed my cheek. I stood back up gingerly with some help from Sian. We stood aside as we passed, the last of the Dawson relatives to enter the marquee in fact, as Joey and his family entered. I turned to Sian and said, "You really weren't joking about there being a lot of you, then?"

Sian laughed and said, "Yeah. To be honest, there are so many of us that I don't know many of the names."

"That doesn't surprise me," I said.

We were laughing so hard that neither of us noticed the latecomers, a black-skinned, dark-haired young man with a long nose, emerald green eyes and a scar over his left eye, who was with Kopa, who had cloths over his face as usual, and the only part of his face that was visible was his light amber eyes. It wasn't until they had handed their invitations to me did I realise they were there, even as Kovu said to Sian, "It's good to see you again, Sian. It has been too long."

"Kovu!" Sian shrieked, and dropped her small silver spangled bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said, "Kopa didn't tell me you were coming - it's wonderful to see you - how are you?"

"I've been well," he said, hugging Sian like he would his sister. "I told Kopa to keep my visit a surprise, seeing as he already knew that Ferdinand had invited me."

Sian gasped in mock-offence as she turned to Kopa. "You rascal," she said, whacking his arm playfully.

Kopa laughed and said, "Guilty as charged."

We all shared a laugh before the two men turned to me. Kopa's eyes sparkled as he looked at me and said, "Hello, _Maria_." He then winked at me. As Kovu looked curiously at his brother, I looked at Sian for confirmation. She nodded, and I knew that I could trust him to keep the secret.

Seeing as Kovu was getting nothing from Kopa, he turned back to me and shook my hand, before Max came back and led them to their seats. As they passed, many people turned their heads to look at them. I looked at Sian to see if she was angry at the attention, but her expression was one of natural happiness. After all, as she would tell me later, it was Kovu they were looking at, not her Kopa.

As we were staring at Kovu, Kopa and Max's retreating backs, Chris, Chrissie and Tanya and Geri came hurrying back up the aisle.

"Time to sit down," Tanya told me, "or we're going to get run over by the bride."

Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I took our seats in the second row behind Tanya and Geri. I sat down next to Chris, feeling nervous at how close we were sitting and how I longed to take his hand in mine, but I quickly pushed those feelings aside and flashed a smile at my parents, who were sat in the same row as us, who smiled quickly back.

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring was broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. A moment later Ferdinand and his father stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large, white roses in their buttonholes; Tanya wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of laughter from the Coltee cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled, from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

"Ooooh!" said Sian, swivelling round in her seat to look at the entrance.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Mr Dawson and Sam came walking up the aisle, Sam gliding, Mr Dawson striding along, beaming merrily. Same was wearing a simple cream dress with a few silver sequins at the top, as lace was draped over the skirt. Kat followed behind, dressed in gold, along with Simon, who was wearing blue dress robes, carrying a cushion bearing the rings. Kat looked radiant and Simon just as handsome as his brother, and once Sam had reached Ferdinand, she did not look as though she had ever met Rasputin Silverfur.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said a slightly sing-song voice, and with a slight shock I saw the same small, tufty-haired witch who had presided at Crighton's funeral, now standing in front of Sam and Ferdinand. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls ..."

"Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely," said Great-Aunt Lizzie in a rather carrying whisper. "But I must say, Katherine's dress is far too low-cut."

For some reason, I studied Chris out of the corner of my eye then, and my mind wandered a long way from the marquee, back to afternoons spent alone with him in lonely parts of the school grounds. They seemed so long ago; they had always seemed too good to be true, as though I had been stealing shining hours from a normal person's life, a person without a flame-shaped scar on her forehead ...

"And do you, Samantha Valerie, take Ferdinand Phillippe ..."

In the front row, Madame Desjardin was sobbing quietly into a scrap of lace. Trumpet-like sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Mina had taken out one of her own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. I turned and looked at Sian and Chrissie: Chrissie was smiling with happy tears running down her cheeks, but Sian looked miserable, her head was bent and she was playing with her phoenix pendant again.

"... then I declare you bonded for life."

The tufty-haired witch raised her wand high over the heads of Sam and Ferdinand and a shower of silver stars fell high upon them, spiralling around their now entwined figures. As Tanya and Geri lead a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst: birds of paradise and tiny, golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: So here is the second part of the wedding. I hope that you have all enjoyed the first part. If you haven't already figured it out, then yes, Great-Aunt Lizzie (or Elizabeth if you prefer) is the rich aunt that Ellie Dodge was talking about in Crighton's obituary. Also, towards the end of this chapter there are a couple of POV changes towards the end of this chapter which both take place at the Ministry, so I hope you enjoying reading those and the rest of this chapter.**

 **Chapter 10**

 **The Wedding - Part 2**

 **KIARA**

"Ladies and gentlemen!" called the tufty-haired witch. "If you would please stand up!"

We all did so, Great-Aunt Lizzie grumbling audibly; she waved her wand. The seats on which we had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that we were standing beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit back garden. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the centre of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth around it, and the golden-jacketed band trooped towards a podium.

"Smooth," said Chrissie approvingly, as the waiters popped up on all sides, some bearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, Butterbeer and Firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

"We should go and congratulate them!" said Sian, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Sam and Ferdinand had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

"We'll have time later," shrugged Chrissie, snatching four Butterbeers from a passing tray and handing a bottle each to Chris and I. "Sian, cop hold, let's grab a table ... not there! Nowhere near Great-Aunt Lizzie - "

Chrissie led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as she went: I felt sure she was keeping an eye out for Kovu Outsider. By the time we had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: the emptiest was the one where Lincoln sat alone.

"Mind if we join you?" asked Chris.

"Oh yes," said Lincoln happily. "Mammy's just gone to give Sam and Ferdinand our present."

"What is it, a lifetime's supply of Gurdryroots?" asked Chrissie.

Sian thwacked her on the arm. Clutching her assaulted arm gingerly, Chrissie looked at Sian with a what did I do expression, which Sian just shook her head at disapprovingly. I turned my head to the dancefloor.

The band had begun to play. Sam and Ferdinand took to the floor first, to great applause; after a while, Monsieur and Madame Desjardin took to the floor, as Mr Dawson embraced his mother.

"I like this song," said Lincoln, swaying in time to the waltz-like tune, and a few seconds later he stood up and seemed to sway on to the dancefloor, where he revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving his arms.

"He's great, isn't he?" said Chrissie admiringly. "Always good value."

Chrissie then became flustered and blushed as Kovu Outsider approached, followed by Kopa and Ben. Sian rolled her eyes at Chrissie's behaviour as Kovu sat down in Lincoln's vacant seat. I could tell at once that he had not come to pay compliments this time from the scowl on his face as he said, "Who is that woman in yellow?"

"That's Xion Lovedream, she's the mother of a friend of ours," said Chris, speaking for Chrissie, who was a stuttering wreck, which made Sian annoyed for some reason.

Ben then decided to speak. "Care to dance, Chrissie?"

Chrissie turned her head, surprised to see Ben there, but that surprise quickly turned to delight as she accepted; Sian smiled at the retreating pair, and her smile widened as Kopa stretched out a hand to her, which Sian took without hesitation, and together they joined the growing throng on the dancefloor.

"I'm glad to see my brother and Sian getting on so well," said Kovu fondly, also looking at the couple. He then turned to Chris and I. "And who are you two?"

"Maria Dawson."

"Chris Rickers - Sian's adopted brother," Chris explained.

Kovu shook hands with us.

"Chris, Maria - you know that woman Lovedream well?"

"No, we only just met her today," I said, as Chris shook his head. "Why?"

Kovu glowered over the top of his drink, watching Xion, who was chatting to several warlocks on the other side of the dancefloor.

"Because," said Outsider, "if she was not a friend of Ferdinand's, I would duel her, here and now, for wearing that filthy sign upon her chest."

"Sign?" I said, as Chris and I both looked over at Xion too. The strange, three-fingered hand was gleaming on her chest. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Femwazz. That is Femwazz's sign."

"Femwazz ... the Dark witch Crighton defeated?"

"Exactly."

Kovu's jaw muscles worked as if he were chewing, then he said, "Femwazz killed many people, my grandmother, for instance. Of course, she was never powerful in this country, they say she feared Crighton - and rightly, seeing how she was finished. But this - " He pointed a finger at Xion. "This is her symbol, I recognised it at once: Femwazz carved it into a wall at Uagadou when she was a pupil there. Some idiots copied it on to their books and clothes, thinking to shock, making themselves impressive - until those of us who had lost family members to Femwazz taught them better."

Kovu cracked his knuckles menacingly and glowered at Xion. I glanced at Chris, who looked just as disbelieved as I felt. It seemed incredibly unlikely that Lincoln's mother was a supporter of the Dark Arts, and nobody else in the tent seemed to have recognised the three-fingered, rune-like shape.

"Are you - er - quite sure it's Femwazz's - ?" Chris began uncertainly.

"I am not mistaken," said Kovu coldly. "I walked past that sign for several years, I know it well."

"Well, there's a chance," I said, "that Xion doesn't actually know what the symbol means. The Lovedreams are quite ... unusual. She could easily have picked it up somewhere and think it's a cross-section of the head of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack or something."

"The cross-section of a what?"

"Well, we don't know what they are, but apparently she and her son go on holiday looking for them."

I felt I was doing a bad job explaining Lincoln and his mother.

"That's him," I said, pointing at Lincoln, who was still dancing alone, waving his arms around his head like someone attempting to beat off midges.

"Why is he doing that?" asked Kovu.

"Probably trying to get rid of a Wrackspurt," I said, recognising the symptoms.

Kovu did not seem to know whether or not I was making fun of him. He drew his wand from inside his robes and tapped it menacingly on his thigh; sparks flew out of the end, and seeing it reminded me of something that I had not yet told Chris, Sian and Chrissie.

"Hori!" I said loudly, and both Chris and Kovu started, but I was too excited to care: the memory had come back to me at the sight of Kovu's wand: Wandwick taking it and examining it carefully before the Triwizard Tournament.

"What about her?" asked Kovu suspiciously.

"She's a wandmaker!"

"I know that," said Kovu.

"She made your wand!" That's why I thought - Quidditch ..."

Kovu was looking more and more suspicious, as Chris grew more and more startled at the information I was telling.

"How do you know Hori made my wand?" Kovu asked.

"I ... I read it somewhere, I think," I said. "In a - a fan magazine," I improvised wildly and Kovu looked mollified.

"I had not realised I ever discussed my wand with fans," he said. "So ... er ... where is Hori these days?"

Kovu looked puzzled.

"She retired several minutes ago. I was one of the last to purchase a Hori wand. They are the best - although I know, of course, that you Britains set much store by Ollivander and Wandwick."

I did not answer. I pretended to watch the dancers, like Kovu, but I was thinking hard. So Zira was looking for a celebrated wandmaker, and I did not have to search for a reason: it was surely because of what my wand had done on the night that Zira had pursued me across the skies. The holly and phoenix feather wand had conquered the borrowed wand, something that Wandwick had not anticipated or understood. Would Hori know better? Was she truly more skilled than Wandwick, did she know secrets of wands that Wandwick did not?

I was interrupted from these thoughts by Chris, who said to Kovu, "Would you excuse me and my cousin?", and not waiting for Kovu to give his answer, Chris grabbed my arm and all but dragged me on to the dancefloor, where he put his arms around me and we started swaying to a slow song. I thought this was nice of him, but Chris' next words made me understand the true reason behind this motive.

"What the hell was that all about back there, Kiara?" he hissed, his eyes sharp on mine. "Why were you so concerned with that wandmaker?"

"Because Zira's looking for her," I said.

"What?" he said, still leading us in slow circles, his eyes unnarrowing slightly. "How do you know?"

"Because I had a dream, yesterday morning, about Zira. I don't know where she is, only that she's abroad and looking for this Hori person, and the only reason I didn't tell you this yesterday is because I got distracted by my parents coming into my room, wishing me happy birthday, and the rest of my birthday followed, so ..." I shrugged my shoulders slightly, before I added quickly, "But don't mention any of this to Sian!"

"Of course not," he said quickly, before asking, "But what does Zira want from Hori?"

I wanted to tell Chris my suspicions, but I knew that he wouldn't believe me, and I didn't fancy getting into an argument with him at a wedding, so I said, "I don't know ... but I really hope there won't be another victim added to the death toll once Zira finds her ..."

"Hey, don't think that way, not today," Chris said, his tone and expression serious. "We can worry about the death toll tomorrow. For now, let us focus on the joys a wedding can bring, OK?"

I knew it was foolish to argue with him, so I nodded. He kissed my temple and said lightly, "You know, looking around at all this make me think of what our own wedding will be like."

"Chris ..."

"I know, I know," he said, sounding annoyed. "Then a mischievous gleam caught his eye as he said, "But a man can dream, can't he?"

I laughed, not knowing what to say. But something he said caught my attention.

"Wait, you dream of our wedding?"

"Yes," Chris said, nodding. "I know I'm young, Kiara, but never doubt that I love you. I can see it all so clearly, you know: you looking beautiful in white ..."

"You looking dapper in your dress robes ..." I said, touching his cheek with my free hand. He grinned as we kept on spinning, neither of us noticing that the music had changed to a more upbeat song, so consumed were we in our fantasy.

"... the embarrassing toasts our friends and family will make ..."

"... our fathers dancing with my grandmothers, as Mum dances with Kion in her arms, his joyful laughter contagious to anyone who hears it ..."

"... Sian, Chrissie and the others dancing around us, praising us silently as we glide across the dancefloor ..."

"... laughing as we all enjoy stuffing cake into each other's mouths ..."

As Chris and I laughed at the visions we were creating, the world faded away, for as I looked into Chris' eyes, I was shocked and awed by the faith I saw in them, faith not just in me - but in _us_ , I quickly realised. And it was in that brief, shining, happy moment that I _believed_ , believed that I could do it, that I could defeat Zira, and believe that Chris and I could achieve our own happy ever after (as cliché as it sounds), such was the strength Chris' love gave me, and that strength would give me the courage the next day to get out of bed and take him, Sian and Chrissie with me to find and destroy Zira's Horcruxes.

Our spell was broken by a commotion by the mouth of the tent: Uncle Pau was pushing Nan Lorna, and Uncle Maly was pushing Aunt Flo next to them, both women being, of course, still in their wheelchairs; behind them, a number of Dawson relatives were gathering, growing larger in numbers. It seemed that Nana Lorna was leaving with her small company. I glanced at Chris, who was looking at his nan with longing.

"Go to her," I said, drawing him back to me.

Chris looked at me, unsure.

"It's all right," I reassured him. "I'll be fine on my own for a while. But you don't know the next time you'll see her again. Now, go to her."

Chris smiled gratefully at me. "Thank you," he breathed, kissing my cheek before he ran off into the growing crowd of Dawsons, blending in seamlessly. I watched him until I could no longer see him, then turned away from the dancefloor.

I took a sandwich from a passing waiter, surveying everything as I munched with fervour. I had never been to a wedding before this point, so I could not judge how wizarding celebrations differed from Muggle ones, though I was pretty sure that the latter would not involve a wedding cake topped with two model phoenixes that took flight when the cake was cut, or bottles of champagne that floated unsupported under the canopy, now lit with floating golden lanterns, the revelry becoming more and more uncontained. Tanya and Geri had long since disappeared into the darkness with a pair of Ferdinand's cousins; Kat, Mina and a squat witch in a purple witch's hat were singing "Odo the Hero" in a corner.

Wandering through the crowd so as to escape a drunken uncle of Sian's who seemed unsure whether or not I was his niece, I spotted an old witch sitting alone at a table. Her cloud of white hair made her look rather like an aged dandelion clock, and was topped by a moth-eaten cap. She was vaguely familiar: racking my brains I suddenly realised that this was Ellie Dodge, member of the Order of the Centaur, and the writer of Crighton's obituary.

I approached her.

"May I sit down?"

"Of course, of course," said Dodge; she had a rather high-pitched, wheezy voice.

I leaned in.

"Miss Dodge, I'm Kiara Pride-Lander."

Dodge gasped.

"My dear girl! Matthew told me you were here, disguised ... I am so glad, so honoured!"

In a flutter of nervous pleasure Dodge poured me a goblet of champagne.

"I thought of writing to you," she whispered, "after Crighton ... the shock ... and for you and Sian, I am sure ..."

Dodge's tiny eyes filled with sudden tears.

"I saw the obituary you wrote for the _Daily Squabbler_ ," I said. "I didn't realise you knew Professor Crighton so well."

"As well as anyone," said Dodge, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. "Certainly I knew her longest, if you don't count Sara - and somehow, people never _do_ seem to count Sara."

"Speaking of the _Daily Squabbler_ ... I don't know if you saw, Miss Dodge - ?"

"Oh, please call me Ellie, dear girl."

"Ellie, I don't know whether you saw the interview Peter Meter gave about Crighton?"

Dodge's face flooded with angry colour.

"Oh, yes, Kiara, I saw it. That man, or vulture might be a more accurate term, positively pestered me to talk to him. I am ashamed to say that I became rather rude, called him an interfering trout, which resulted, as you may have seen, in aspersions cast upon my sanity."

"Well, in that interview," I went on, "Peter Meter hinted that Professor Crighton was involved in the Dark Arts when she was young."

"Don't believe a word of it!" said Dodge at once. "Not a word, Kiara! Let nothing tarnish your memories of Susan Crighton!"

I looked into Dodge's earnest, pained face and felt not reassured, but frustrated. Did Dodge really think that it was that easy, that I could simply _choose_ not to believe? Didn't Dodge understand my need to be sure, to know _everything_?

Perhaps Dodge suspected my feelings, for she looked concerned and hurried on, "Kiara, Peter Meter is a dreadful - "

But she was interrupted by a shrill cackle.

"Peter Meter? Oh, I love him, always read him!"

Dodge and I looked up to see Great-Aunt Lizzie standing there, the plumes dancing on her hat, a goblet of champagne in her hand. "He's written a book about my Susan, you know!"

"Hello, Elizabeth," said Dodge. "Yes, we were just discussing - "

"You there! Give me your chair, I'm a hundred and seven!"

Another brunette Dawson cousin jumped off her seat, looking alarmed, and Great-Aunt Lizzie swung it round using her cane, and plopped herself down upon it between myself and Dodge.

"Hello again, Miara, or whatever your name is," she said to me. "Now, what were you saying about Peter Meter, Eleanor? I can't wait to read it, I must remember to place an order at Flourish and Blotts!"

Dodge looked stiff and solemn at this, but Great-Aunt Lizzie drained her goblet and clicked her bony fingers at a passing waiter for a replacement. She took another large gulp of champagne, belched and said, "There's no need to look like a pair of stuffed frogs! Before she became so respected and so respectable and all that tosh, there were some funny rumours about Susan!"

"Ill-informed sniping," said Dodge, turning radish-coloured again.

"You would say that, Eleanor," cackled Great-Aunt Lizzie. "I noticed how you skated over the sticky patches in that obituary of yours!"

"I'm sorry you think so," said Dodge, more coldly still. "I assure you I was writing from the heart."

"Oh we all know you worshipped my niece, as did Sian; I daresay the two of you still think that she was a saint even if it does turn out that she did away with her Squib brother!"

 _"Elizabeth!"_ exclaimed Dodge.

A chill that had nothing to do with the iced champagne was stealing through my chest.

"What do you mean?" I asked Elizabeth. "Who said her brother was a Squib? I thought he was ill?"

"Thought wrong, then, didn't you, Miara!" said Great-Aunt Lizzie, looking delighted at the effect she had produced. "Anyway, how could you expect to know anything about it? It all happened years and years before you were even thought of, my dear, and the truth is that those of us who were alive then never knew what really happened - not even I! That's why I can't wait to find out what Meter's unearthed! Susan kept her brother quiet from the world for a long time, only those of us who were close to the family knew about it, and we were forced to keep quiet!"

"Untrue!" wheezed Dodge. "Absolutely untrue!"

"She never told me her brother was a Squib," I said, without thinking, still cold inside.

"And why on earth would she tell you?" screeched Elizabeth, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon me.

"The reason Susan never spoke about Sean," began Ellie, in a voice thick with emotion, "is, I should have thought, quite clear. She was so devastated by his death - "

"Why did nobody ever see him, Eleanor?" squawked Elizabeth. "Why did those of us who weren't close to the family never even know he existed, until they carried the coffin out of the house and held a funeral for him? Where was my saintly niece, while Sean was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Dragon Mort, and never mind what was going on in her own house!"

"What d'you mean 'locked in the cellar'?" I asked. "What is this?"

Dodge looked wretched. Great-Aunt Lizzie cackled again and answered me.

"Susan's father was a terrifying man, simply terrifying. Pure-blood, though I heard he pretended otherwise - "

"He never pretended anything of the sort! Johnathon, though proud, was a fine man," whispered Dodge miserably, but Great-Aunt Lizzie ignored her.

" - proud and very domineering, the sort of wizard who would have been mortified to produce a Squib - "

"Sean was not a Squib!" wheezed Dodge.

"So you say, Eleanor, but explain, then, why he never attended Dragon Mort!" said Great-Aunt Lizzie. She turned back to me. "In our day Squibs were often hushed up. Though to take it to the extreme of actually imprisoning a little boy in the house and pretending he didn't exist - "

"I tell you, that's not what happened!" said Dodge, but Great-Aunt Lizzie steamrollered on, still addressing me.

"Squibs were usually shipped off to Muggle schools and encouraged to integrate into the Muggle community ... much kinder than trying to find a place for them in the wizarding world, where they must always be second class; but naturally Johnathon Crighton wouldn't have dreamed of letting his son go to a Muggle school - "

"Sean was delicate!" said Dodge desperately. "His health was always too poor to permit him - "

"To permit him to leave the house?" cackled Elizabeth. "And yet he was never taken to St Mungo's and no Healer was ever summoned to see him!"

"Really, Elizabeth, how can you say things about your own - "

"My cousin, Lucille, was a Healer at St Mungo's at the time, you know, Eleanor, and she told my family in strictest confidence that Sean had never been seen there. Of course I wanted to tell her all I knew about the boy, but out of respect to Susan, foolish as she was, I kept quiet!"

Dodge looked to be on the verge of tears. Great-Aunt Lizzie, who seemed to be enjoying herself hugely, snapped her fingers for more champagne. Numbly I thought of how the Smiths had used to shut me up once upon a time, locked me away, kept me out of sight, all for the crime of performing magic without meaning to. Had Crighton's brother suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for his lack of magic? And had Crighton truly left him to his fate while she went off to Dragon Mort, to prove herself brilliant and talented?

"Now, if Johnathon hadn't died first," Elizabeth resumed, "I'd have said it was he who finished off Sean - "

"How can you, Elizabeth?" groaned Dodge. "A father kill his own son? Think what you are saying!"

"If the father in question was capable of imprisoning his son for years on end, why not?" shrugged Great-Aunt Lizzie. "But as I say, it doesn't fit, because Johnathon died before Sean - of what, nobody ever seemed sure - "

"Oh, no doubt Sean murdered him," said Dodge, with a brave attempt at scorn. "Why not?"

"Yes, Sean might have made a desperate bid for freedom and killed Johnathon in the struggle," said Great-Aunt Lizzie thoughtfully. "Shake your head all you like, Eleanor! We were both at Sean's funeral, after all! We both saw what happened!"

"Yes, we did," said Dodge, through trembling lips. "And a more desperately sad occasion was when Susan herself died. In fact, Sian's heartache mirrored Susan's that day - "

"Yes, well, Susan's heart wasn't the only thing that was broken. If I remember rightly, didn't Sara break Susan's nose halfway through the service?"

If Dodge had looked horrified before this, it was nothing to how she looked now. Elizabeth might have stabbed her. She cackled loudly and took another swig of champagne, which dribbled down her chin.

"Yes, I was there," continued Great-Aunt Lizzie happily. "A coffin-side brawl, that's what it was! From what I remember, Sara shouted that it was all Susan's fault that Sean was dead and then punched her in the face. Susan did not even defend herself, and that's odd enough in itself, for Susan could have destroyed Sara in a duel with both hands tied behind her back."

Elizabeth swigged yet more champagne. The recitation of these old scandals seemed to elate her as much as they horrified Dodge. I did not know what to think, what to believe: I wanted the truth, and yet all Dodge did was sit there and bleat feebly that Sean had been ill. I could hardly believe that Cfrighton would not have intervened if such cruelty was happening inside her own house, and yet there was undoubtedly something odd about the story.

"And I'll tell you something else," Elizabeth said, hiccoughing slightly as she lowered her goblet. "I think Imamu Ibori has spilled the beans to Peter Meter. All those hints in Meter's interview about an important source close to the Crightons - goodness knows he was there all through the Sean business and it would fit!"

"Imamu would never talk to Peter Meter!" whispered Dodge.

"Who's Imamu Ibori?" I said.

"Imamu Ibori," said Dodge, clutching at my question like a drowning woman at a lifebelt, "is a most gifted South African magical historian and an old friend of Susan's."

"Quite gaga these days, I've heard," said Great-Aunt Lizzie cheerfully.

"If that is so, it is even more dishonourable for Meter to have taken advantage of him," said Dodge, "and no reliance can be placed on anything Imamu may have said!"

"Oh, there are ways of bringing back memories, and I'm sure Peter Meter knows them all," said Great-Aunt Lizzie. "But even if Imamu's completely cuckoo, I'm sure he'd still have old photographs, maybe even letters. He knew the Crighton's for years ... well worth a trip to the Pride Lands, I'd have thought. Not now, though. They say the Lands are cursed. Nothing grows there any more - not even the sun shines."

I choked on the swig of Butterbeer I was taking when I heard this. Dodge banged me on the back as I coughed, looking at Great-Aunt Lizzie through streaming eyes. Once I had control of my voice again, I asked, "Imamu Ibori lives in the Pride-Lands?"

"Oh yes, he's been there forever! The Crightons moved there after Lillian was imprisoned and he was their neighbour!"

"The Crightons lived in the Pride-Lands?"

"Yes, Miara, that's what I just said," said Great-Aunt Lizzie testily. She then turned to Dodge and said, "Now, don't you think Sian would be interested to hear all this, Eleanor?"

Dodge stared at Great-Aunt Lizzie, thunderstruck. "Don't you dare, Elizabeth! At least not now. If Sian knew all that her mother had been through and done, the truth would destroy her!"

"Yes, well, Sian needs to know that her mother wasn't always the saint she painted her to be in her - "

"I said _no_ , Elizabeth!" Dodge hissed.

Elizabeth shrugged and swallowed more champagne, but I was hardly listening to them. I remember feeling drained, empty. Never once, in six years, had Crighton told me that we had both lived and lost loved ones in the Pride-Lands. Why? Was my grandfather buried close to Crighton's father and brother? Had Crighton visited their graves, perhaps walked past my grandfather's to do so? And she had never once told me ... never bothered to say ...

And why it was so important, I could not explain, not even to myself, yet I felt it had been tantamount to a lie not to tell me that we had this place, and these experiences, in common. I stared ahead of me, barely noticing what was going on around me, and I did not realise that Sian had appeared out of the crowd until she drew up a chair beside me.

"I simply can't dance any more," she panted, slipping off one of her shoes and rubbing the sole of her foot. "Kopa's gone looking to find more Butterbeer. It's a bit odd, I've just seen Kovu storming away from Lincoln's mother, it looked like they'd been arguing - " She dropped her voice, staring at me. "Kiara, are you OK?"

I did not know where to begin, but it did not matter. At that moment, something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dancefloor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze, absurdly, in mid-dance. Then the Patronus' mouth opened wide and spoke in the loud, soft, slow voice of Kara Shackles, and what she said was not what any of us were expecting to hear at all, and the last thing any of us wanted, or expected, to hear ...

 **ROWENA SCRIMWAZZ**

Rowena Scrimwazz, the Minister for Magic, was in her office, pacing, wondering as she often did how she was supposed to keep morale up, for making arrests just to make the Ministry look like it was doing something - anything - to make it look like they were busy capturing Love Destroyers, but in reality that was far from the case. They were in trouble, Rowena could see. The Dark side was gaining power and forces with each passing day, and every day the resistance was one step closer to losing, this Rowena knew, but she couldn't tell the public that; it would make them panic even more, not to mention that it would do nothing good for the Minister's image.

So yes, Rowena was worried. She's be a fool not to be, and Rowena was anything buy a fool. But it wasn't just what was happening outside the Ministry's walls that had Rowena worried, for she was no stranger to the glares and whispered mutinous mutterings within her precious Ministry walls that grew stronger every day: Democritus Umber, who Rowena had assumed was trustworthy (even after his supposed "meltdown" at Dragon Mort) had been one of the first to turn; there was something in the way he looked at her that made Rowena feel uneasy. And Rowena had to admit, rather reluctantly, that the Pride-Lander girl had been right about him, after all.

At the thought of Kiara Pride-Lander, Rowena's pacing turned angry. That incorrigible girl, Rowena thought furiously, refusing to help the Ministry when they all wanted - well, _some_ of the Ministry wanted - the same thing: to destroy She-You-Know? But this wasn't the only reason why Rowena wanted Pride-Lander on her side, oh no, for the main reason why she remained shut up in her office was because she didn't have a plan (not that she would tell anyone that), but she knew that Pride-Lander and her friends did. What were they up to? What did they know? Was there really a way to destroy She-You-Know? These questions and more were spinning around Rowena's mind, and it was frustrating her to no end and that Pride-Lander would not accept her proposal to help the Ministry. True, they had not treated the girl and her family that well a few years back, but Rowena thought that the Pride-Lander girl would have put her foolish pride aside, not just for the good of the Ministry, but for the good of the world, too.

So yes, the Minister was worried, especially today. She didn't know why, but something felt different, like there was a hidden sense of heightened anticipation from those that were turning against her, which is why she had shut herself up in her office yet again. She was worried that something bad was going to happen to her, and though she would never admit it to anyone, Rowena was afraid.

Unfortunately for the Minister, she was not being paranoid, for a series of loud bangs growing closer to her office made her stop pacing. She looked at the door of her office, worry consuming her chest (though she didn't let it show), as she reached for her wand hidden inside her robes as the bangs grew louder, accompanied now by a mixture of screams and curses, and before she could do anything, the door of Rowena's office was thrown open with such force that it burst off its hinges; the force was such that Rowena staggered back into her desk. Straightening herself, she watched as the dust cleared, with her wand at the ready, as the intruders came into focus.

There were five or six of them in total, all of them wearing masks and red robes, all except one, whose skin was pale white, her hair was death white and her evil, gleaming red eyes with slits for pupils, like a cat's, were fixed directly on her. She stepped forwards slowly, smiling wickedly at Rowena, her followers parting silently as she walked, and Rowena felt a twinge of fear at the sight of her greatest enemy to date, yet she knew she would face Lady Zira at some point or other, so she wasn't that surprised.

Once she was at the front of her Love Destroyers, they scarpered into the hallway, leaving Rowena and their mistress alone in the office.

"You don't seem surprised to see me, Minister," said Zira in her high, cold voice, making the hairs on the back of Rowena's neck stand up.

"I knew I would be seeing you eventually," Rowena said heavily, "so this hardly comes as a surprise to me."

"Well, in that case," said Zira, "I am guessing that you know what I seek from you, and I want it now."

Rowena looked directly into Zira's eyes and said, "I know what you want, and you will not get it from me. The only way you'll know where Kiara Pride-Lander and her family are is if you kill me."

"Oh, I shall," said Zira, her wicked smile widening. "You see, I have worked hard getting people within the Ministry on my side for weeks now with help from a few of my most trusted Love Destroyers, and once I am done here I will have no need for you any more. Now tell me, where is Kiara Pride-Lander?"

Rowena held her head high, her eyed narrowed in anger. "Never," she spat.

"Have it your way," said Zira. Then, her smile fading as her anger heightened, she raised her wand directly at Rowena and screamed, _"Crucio!"_

Even though Rowena knew it was coming, it didn't stop her from feeling the pain all over her: she couldn't stop the screams of pure agony that were ripped from her as she fell to the floor, as the pain completely stole over her, her limbs jerking in all directions as she silently begged for the pain to stop and for Zira to just kill her and get it over with -

The pain was gone. Breathing heavily, Rowena glared up at Zira, who was standing over her, her wicked smile back in place.

"Now that you have had a little pain, I hope that you will now tell me where Kiara Pride-Lander is," said Zira. "It is the only way to end this, you know."

"I w-will n-n-never tell you," Rowena panted.

"You don't have to," said Zira wickedly.

And then Rowena felt the office swim before her as her eyes locked with Zira's once more, and she then knew what Zira's plan was: if she wasn't going to tell her straight off where the Pride-Lander girl was being kept safe, then Zira was going to torture her to lower her defences so that she could use Legilimens to get inside her head to get all the information she needed. It was a foolish move on Rowena's part to fall for it, and as much as she tried to fight back, Zira was just too strong for her, and within a matter of seconds, it was over: the office stopped swimming and she saw Zira's face clearly again, smiling as wickedly as ever.

"Thank you, _Minister_ ," she said cruelly. "You have been most helpful." Then she shouted over her shoulder, "Tell the others to head to Dawson Manor, that's where the Pride-Landers are."

Rowena heard the sounds of running footsteps as Zira turned back to her, the wicked smile not leaving her face as she raised her wand at her one last time, and as Rowena looked into the merciless eyes of her enemy, knowing that they would be the last things she would ever see, her last coherent thought was, _good luck, Kiara Pride-Lander. You'll need it_ ...

 **KARA SHACKLES**

Kara was racing down to the Atrium, ready to protect as many people as she possibly good, not giving a damn about her own life for the time being. There were screaming, shouts, bangs and curses coming from every Department, this Kara could see as the lift she was in stopped and she could see the carnage within. Kara knew what was happening: the takeover of the Ministry had begun.

Once the lift had reached the Atrium, Kara hurried out of it and a display of pandemonium met her eyes: people were running for the fireplaces as spells and curses were being shot left, right and centre, striking anything and everything in their path; cracks and dents were appearing on the walls from where the spells hit them, or else bodies were slamming into them; rubble, bodies, blood and dust were strewn everywhere, filling the air; Kara had to quickly jump behind a desk to avoid getting hit by a flying body, which crashed into the wall and crumpled to the floor in a heap, motionless -

Then a voice yelled above the madness: "We know where the Pride-Landers are, and Scrimwazz is dead! Let's go!" before a large number of spells were cast at something and hit whatever they had struck at, which exploded with the force of a bomb; Kara had to cover her ears from the noise, as large chunks of something like metal were blasted in all directions: a piece hit the desk that Kara was hiding under, while another large chunk of gold hit the wall opposite Kara and landed an inch from the unconscious wizard's head. As the ringing in Kara's ears faded, she heard the sounds of water exploding everywhere like there was an indoor shower, followed by running footsteps, coughing, moaning and crying.

Kara struggled to her feet. Looking around, she gasped at what she saw before her, for it was like she was standing in the middle of a bomb explosion: a fine layer of dust was settling, revealing a mass of bodies, most of whom were coughing and hacking, treading carefully through the debris, someone occasionally tripping over a piece of rubble to get to the seriously injured, or else to remove the rubble to get to those who were unfortunate enough to be buried under it. Kara then turned to where the statue of the Golden Trio had stood, and immediately she understood now what the big explosion had been, for where there had once stood the statues of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Weasley, with their wands held high in unity, there was now a burst plinth with water flooding the floor, and chunks of the statues scattered about the place.

Kara wanted to help the injured, and she would, but for now she had to focus on warning the Dawsons, her friends, and hope that they would get the message before the mass of Ministry workers and Love Destroyers involved their home for the Pride-Landers. As Kara was starting to head for the fireplaces, her foot stumbled over something. Turning back and looking down, Kara saw that it was Harry's statue face. As Kara carefully picked up the head, a wave of mingled sadness and anger washed over her: sadness for all the lives that should not have been lost, and anger towards those who attacked them. As Kara wended her way through the bodies of those that were injured, dying and dead, clutching Harry's golden head, an ironic symbol now of all that once was lost and all that could only be dreamed of, Kara prayed a silent prayer for Kiara, their one and only golden hope in a world full of darkness, not only hoping that she would save them all, but also hoping that she and her friends would be safe on their long and perilous journey ...

 **KIARA**

And what the lynx said in Kara's voice made my stomach drop as a chill of dread ran right through me.

 _"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimwazz is dead. They are coming."_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11**

 **A Place to Hide**

 **KIARA**

Everything seemed fuzzy, slow. Sian and I jumped to our feet and drew our wands. Many people were only just realising that something strange had happened; heads were still turning towards the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread outwards in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed, as the land around us shuddered.

I grabbed on to Sian's arm as I asked her, "What's that? What's happening?"

"The Cover Charm hiding our home is vanishing, that's what's happening," she said, as guests were sprinting and Disapparating in all directions, as they realised that the protective enchantments had broken. "We have about five minutes until the Charm breaks and the Love Destroyers start swarming in, never fear."

I nodded, slightly comforted by this news, as Chris and Chrissie dashed over to where we were. Once they had joined us, Sian turned to face the three of us and addressed us in the commanding authoritative tone that I knew at once was not to be argued against.

"All right you three, listen to me, I have to stay here to protect my family, but I will find you soon, I promise. Here - " she pulled her silver spangled bag from around her neck and handed it to Chrissie, who dropped it as though it were carrying a ton of bricks. "Everything you need in in here: books, clothes, shoes medicine, important documents for the three of you, everything." Chrissie opened her mouth, but Sian quickly said, "I've no time to explain now. And don't worry about me; my stuff's right here, but this isn't about me. Look, head to ... Tottenham Court Road."

"Tottenham Court Road?" I asked.

"It's the first place I thought of," Sian shrugged. "Anyhoo, there should be an all night café down there somewhere. Once in the café, discuss where you're going to go, and once you've agreed on a place, go there."

"But how will you know where to find us?" Chris asked.

"That's what phones are for, silly," Sian said, rolling her eyes, as the ground around us trembled more violently. "That, and I've been practicing that talking Patronus thing. Besides, this is _me_ we're talking about here; I always know, remember?"

Chris, Chrissie and I laughed at this, just as my parents and little brother came running to me, my little brother screaming in my mother's arms. I went over to them and touched my little brother's cheeks; he stopped crying and opened his eyes, clearly afraid.

"I know that you're scared," I told him gently, "we all are, but you're going to have to be strong, little man, OK? I know that it's hard, and I know that you're not going to be seeing me for a while, but know that I love you and am thinking about you, all right?"

I don't know if Kion understood me or not, but I like to think that he did, for his eyes had a toughness in them in that moment that I only ever saw in my father. I hugged and kissed him before turning to my parents.

My mother said nothing but held me tightly to her, stroking my hair with her free hand. When she let me go I turned to my father, who said, "Be brave, be strong, and never forget that we love you."

"I love you too, Daddy. All of you," I added, before embracing him. He held me tightly, never wanting to let me go. When he did, we stared at each other for several long seconds, drinking in the sight of each other, before he and Mum, with Kion still in her arms, ran after the Dawsons, who were heading to the house, except for Sian, who stayed with Chris, Chrissie and I.

Once my parents had vanished from view, Sian hugged Chris, Chrissie and I individually, and said while embracing us, "Stay together. Keep each other safe. I'll come for you soon. Now go. Go!" she added urgently, when Chris, Chrissie and I hadn't moved; at Sian's extra "go" however, Chris jumped as though he were coming out of a trance-like state and moved to stand in between Chrissie and I; just before the compressing darkness engulfed us, I heard Sian whisper, "Please be safe," before we were gone, away from Dawson Manor, away from the shortly descending Love Destroyers, and away, perhaps, from Zira herself ...

I opened my eyes, and for one wild moment I thought that we had not left the wedding after all: we still seemed to be surrounded by people.

"Are we in Tottenham Court Road?" I asked.

"Yes," panted Chris. "Come on, we need to walk."

"Chris is right," said Chrissie. "We need to find somewhere to change."

I did as they asked. We half walked, half ran up the wide, dark street thronged with late-night revellers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above us. A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled us as we passed; Chris was still wearing dress robes.

"Chrissie, we haven't got anything to change into," Chris told her, as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.

"Why didn't I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?" I said, inwardly cursing my own stupidity. "All last year I kept it on me and - "

"It's OK, I've got the Cloak and clothes for all of us," said Chrissie. "Just try and act naturally until - this will do."

She led us down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.

"When you say you've got the Cloak, and clothes ..." I said, frowning at Chrissie, who was carrying nothing except for Sian's small spangled bag, in which she was now rummaging.

"Yes, they're here," said Chrissie, amazed, and to mine and Chris' utter astonishment, she pulled out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, some red socks and, finally, the silvery Invisibility Cloak.

"How the ruddy hell - ?"

"This is all Sian's doing, remember? She told us at the wedding. I'm sure she'll tell us how she did it when we next see her," said Chrissie. "By the looks of things, she managed to fit everything that we could possibly need in here." She gave the fragile-looking bag a little shake and it echoed like a cargo hold as a number of heavy objects rolled around inside it. "Damn, that'll be the books," she said, peering inside it, "and knowing Sian, she'll have had them all stacked by subject ... oh well ... Kiara, you'd better take the Invisibility Cloak. Chris, hurry up and change ..."

"How do you know all this?" I asked, avoiding looking at Chris as he stripped off his robes.

"Kiara, just because Sian and I are very different people, it does not mean that we don't know each other," said Chrissie. She then went on to say, "As she said at home, she's had the essentials packed for days; I'm sure she wanted to be prepared for the need to make a quick getaway. She must have packed your rucksack, Kiara, after you changed, and put it in here ... I can't be too sure, but it seems like something she would do ..."

"When we next see Sian, remind me to tell her how amazing she is," said Chris, handing her his bundled-up robes.

"Yeah, I've got to tell her the same thing," said Chrissie, nodding as she pushed the robes into the bag. "Please, Kiara, get that Cloak on!"

I threw the Invisibility Cloak around my shoulders and pulled it up over my head, vanishing from sight. I was only just beginning to appreciate what had happened.

"The others - everyone at the wedding - "

"We can't worry about that now," whispered Chrissie. "It's you they're after, Kiara, and your parents and Kion, and we'll just put everyone in even more danger by going back."

"For once, Chrissie's right," said Chris, who seemed to know that I was about to argue, even though he couldn't see my face. "Most of the Order was there, they'll look after everyone."

I nodded, then remembered that they could not see me, so I said, "Yeah." But I thought of my parents and Kion and fear bubbled like acid in my stomach.

"Come on, let's keep moving," said Chris authoritatively.

We moved back up the side street and on to the main road again, where a group of men on the opposite side was singing and weaving across the pavement.

"I wonder why Sian told us to go here of all places," said Chrissie suddenly.

"She must have thought we'd be safer in the Muggle world, as it's not where they'll expect us to be, is it?" said Chris.

"True," said Chrissie, looking around, "but don't you feel a bit - exposed?"

"A little, but where else can we go?" said Chris, glaring at the men on the other side of the road as they started wolf-whistling at Chrissie. "Everywhere's the same now, isn't it? We can hardly book rooms at the Witching Service, can we? And Warts' House is out if Triphorm can get in there ... oh, I wish they'd shut up!"

"All right, darling?" the drunkest of the men on the other side of the pavement was yelling. "Fancy a drink? Ditch skinny boy and come and have a pint!"

"Let's sit down somewhere," Chrissie said hastily, as Chris opened his mouth to shout back across the road. "Look, this will do, in here!"

It was a small and shabby all-night café. A light layer of grease lay on all the formica-topped tables, but it was at least empty. I slipped into a booth first and Chrissie sat next to me opposite Chris, who had his back to the entrance and did not like it: he glanced over his shoulder so frequently he appeared to have a twitch. I did not like being stationary; walking had given the illusion that we had a goal. Beneath the Cloak I could feel the last vestiges of the Polyjuice Potion leaving me, my hands returning to their usual length and shape.

After a minute or two, Chrissie said, "You know, we're not far from the Leaky Cauldron here, that other wizarding inn, it's only in Charing Cross - "

"Chrissie, we can't!" said Chris at once.

"Not to stay there, but to find out what's going on!"

"We know what's going on! Zira's taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know?"

"OK, OK, it was just an idea!"

We relapsed into a prickly silence. The gum-chewing waitress shuffled over and Chrissie ordered two lattes: as I was invisible, it would have looked odd to order me one. A pair of sales representatives entered the café and squeezed into the next booth. Chris dropped his voice to a whisper.

"I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once we're there, we could send a message to the Order."

"Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then?" asked Chrissie.

"No, but I've got my phone, so that's something," said Chris.

"Well, as long as it doesn't get them into trouble, though they might've been arrested already. God, that's revolting," Chrissie added, after one sip of the smooth, milk-brown coffee. The waitress had heard; she shot Chrissie a nasty look as she shuffled off to take the new customers' orders. The taller of the two representatives, who was blonde and thin, now that I came to look at her, waved her away. She stared, affronted.

"Let's get going, then, I don't want to drink this muck," said Chrissie. She reached for the silver spangled bag and added, "I bet Sian's put some money in here, and it'll all probably be at the bottom now ..."

The two sales representatives made identical movements and I mirrored them without conscious thought: the three of us drew our wands. Chris, quickly realising what was happening, lunged across the table quickly, pushing Chrissie sideways, almost on to me, but I jumped up quickly to avoid them. The force of the Love Destroyers' spells shattered the tiled wall where Chris' head had just been, as I, still invisible, yelled, _"Stupefy!"_

The tall, blonde Love Destroyer was hit in the face by a jet of red light: she slumped sideways, unconscious. Her companion, unable to see who had cast the spell, fired another at Chris: shining black ropes flew from her wand-tip and bound Chris head to foot - the waitress screamed and ran for the door - I sent another Stunning Spell at the Love Destroyer with the twisted face who had tied up Chris, but the spell missed, rebounded on the window and hit the waitress, who collapsed in front of the door.

 _"Expulso!"_ bellowed the Love Destroyer, and the table behind which I was standing blew up: the force of the explosion slammed me into the wall and I felt my wand leave my hand as the Cloak slipped off me.

 _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ screamed Chrissie from out of sight, and the Love Destroyer fell forwards like a statue to land with a crunching thud on the mess of broken china, table and coffee. Chrissie crawled out from underneath the bench, shaking dust out of her hair and trembling all over.

 _"D-Diffindo,"_ she said, pointing her wand at Chris, who roared in pain as she slashed open the knee of his jeans, leaving a deep cut. "Oh, sorry, Chris, my hand's shaking! _Diffindo!_ "

The severed ropes fell away. Chris got to his feet, shaking his arms to regain feeling in them. I picked up my wand and clambered over all the debris to where the tall, blonde Love Destroyer was scrawled across the bench.

"I should've recognised her, she was there the night Crighton died," I said. I turned over the darker Love Destroyer with my foot; the woman's eyes moved rapidly between Chris, Chrissie and I.

"That's Dali," said Chrissie. "I recognise her from the old wanted posters. I think the other one's Rin Tempest."

"It doesn't matter what they're called!" Chris barked. "How did they find us? What are we going to do?"

Somehow his panic seemed to clear my head.

"Lock the door," I told him, "and Chrissie, turn out the lights."

I looked down at the paralysed Dali, thinking fast as the lock clicked and Chrissie used the Deluminator to plunge the café into darkness. I could hear the men who had jeered at Chrissie earlier, yelling at another girl in the distance.

"What are we going to do with them?" Chrissie whispered to me through the dark; then, even more quietly, "Kill them? They'd kill us. They had a good go just now."

I could just see Chris' horrified expression through the gloom. I shook my head.

"We need to wipe their memories," I said. "It's better like that, it'll throw them off the scent. If we killed them, it'd be obvious we were here."

"You're the boss," said Chrissie, sounding profoundly relieved. "But I've never done a Memory Charm."

"Nor have I," said Chris, "but I've read about them, and I think I can do it."

He took a deep, calming breath, then pointed his wand at Dali's forehead and said, _"Obliviate!"_

At once, Dali's eyes became unfocused and dreamy.

"Brilliant!" I said, touching his shoulder gently. "Take care of the other one and the waitress while Chrissie and I clear up."

"Clear up?" said Chrissie, looking around at the partly destroyed café. "Why?"

"Don't you think they might wonder what's happened if they wake up and find themselves in a place that looks like it's just been bombed?"

"Oh right, yeah ..."

Once the café was restored to its previous condition, we heaved the Love Destroyers back into their booth and propped them up facing each other.

"But how did they find us?" Chris asked, looking from one inert woman to the other. "How did they know where we were?"

He turned to me.

"You - you don't think you've still got the Trace on you, do you, Kiara?"

"She can't have," said Chrissie. "The Trace breaks at seventeen, that's wizarding law, you can't put it on an adult."

"As far as you know," said Chris. "What if the Love Destroyers have found a way to put it on a seventeen-year-old?"

"But Kiara hasn't been near a Love Destroyer in the last twenty-four hours. Who's supposed to have put a Trace back on her?"

Chris did not reply. I felt contaminated, tainted: was that really how the Love Destroyers had found us?

"If I can't use magic, and you can't use magic near me without us giving away our position ..." I began.

Chris strode over to me, cupped my face gently with his hands, gazed at me with a fiercely protective look in his eyes that I had never seen before, and said firmly, "Under no circumstances are we splitting up! And I would rather die than leave you alone!"

"We need a safe place to hide," said Chrissie. "Give us time to think things through."

"Warts House," I breathed, trying to recover from the shock that Chris' words had on me.

The other two gaped.

"Kiara, we can't, Triphorm can get in there!"

"Your dad said they've put up jinxes against her - and even if they haven't worked," I pressed on, as Chris began to argue, "so what? I swear, I'd like nothing better than to meet Triphorm!"

"I don't know - "

"Chris, where else is there? It's the best chance we've got. Triphorm's only one Love Destroyer. If I've still got the Trace on me, we'll have whole crowds of them on us wherever we go."

He could not argue, though he looked as if he would have liked to. While he unlocked the café door, Chrissie clicked the Deluminator to release the cafe's light. Then, on my count of three, we reversed the spells upon our three victims and before the waitress or either of the Love Destroyers could do more than stir sleepily, Chris, Chrissie and I had turned on the spot and vanished into the compressing darkness once more.

Seconds later my lungs expanded gratefully and I opened my eyes: we were now standing in the middle of a familiar forest. A cluster of mismatched trees stood straight ahead of us, which started to form a house at once as we looked at them, for we had been told of its existence by Crighton, its Secret Keeper, and we rushed towards it, checking every few yards that we were not being followed or observed. We raced up the wooden steps and I tapped the front door once with my wand. We heard a series of metallic clicks and the clatter of a chain, then the door swung open with a creak and we hurried over the threshold.

As I closed the door behind us, the old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into life, casting flickering light along the length of the hallway. It looked just as I remembered it: eerie, cobwebbed, the outlines of the house-elf heads on the wall throwing odd shadows up the staircase. Long, dark curtains concealed the portrait of Pumbaa's mother. The only thing that was out of place was the troll's leg umbrella stand, which was lying on its side as if Todd had just knocked it over again.

"I think somebody's been in here," Chris whispered, pointing towards it.

"That could've happened as the Order left," Chrissie mumbled back.

"So where are those jinxes they put up against Triphorm?" I asked.

"Maybe they're only activated if she shows up?" suggested Chrissie.

Yet we remained close together on the doormat, backs against the door, scared to move further into the house.

"Well, we can't stay here forever," I said, and I took a step forwards.

 _"Tiana Triphorm?"_

Crazy-Head Grumpy's voice whispered out of the darkness, making the three of us jump back in fright. "We're not Triphorm!" I croaked, before something whooshed over me like cold air and my tongue curled backwards on itself, making it impossible to speak. Before I had time to feel inside my mouth, however, my tongue had unravelled again.

The other two seemed to have experienced the same unpleasant sensation. Chrissie was making retching noises; Chris stammered, "That m-must have b-been the T-Tongue Tying Curse Crazy-Head set up for Triphorm."

Gingerly, I took another step forwards. Something shifted in the shadows at the end of the hall, and before any of us could say another word, a figure had risen up out of the carpet, tall, dust-coloured and terrible: Chrissie screamed and so did Mrs Warts, her curtains flying open; the grey figure was gliding towards us, faster and faster, its waist-length hair streaming behind it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets: horribly familiar, dreadfully altered, it raised a wasted arm, pointing at me.

"No!" I shouted, and though I had raised my wand no spell occurred to me. "No! It wasn't us! We didn't kill you - "

On the word "kill" the figure exploded in a great cloud of dust: coughing, my eyes watering, I looked round to see Chrissie crouched on the floor with her arms over her head and Chris, who was shaking from head to foot, knelt down slowly next to her and said, "It's all r-right ... it's g-gone ..."

Dust swirled around me like mist, catching the blue gaslight, as Mrs Warts continued to scream.

 _"Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonour, taint of shame on the house of my fathers - "_

"SHUT UP!" I bellowed, directing my wand at her, and with a bang and a burst of red sparks the curtains swung shut again, silencing her.

"That ... that was ..." Chrissie whimpered, as Chris helped her to her feet.

"I know," I said, "but it wasn't really her, was it? Just something to scare Triphorm."

Had it worked, I wondered, or had Triphorm already blasted the horror-figure aside as casually as she had killed the real Crighton? Nerves still tingling, I led the other two up the hall, half expecting some new terror to reveal itself, but nothing moved except for a mouse skittering along the skirting board.

"Before we go any further, I think we'd better check," whispered Chris, and he raised his wand and said, _"Homenum revelio."_

Nothing happened.

"What was that ... whatever it was?" Chrissie asked him.

"A spell to reveal human presence," said Chris, "and the fact that nothing happened proves that there's no one here but us. I asked Sian about it a few days ago and she told me what to look for."

"Really?" moaned Chrissie, yet managing to sound surprised at the same time.

"You know, Chrissie, there's no harm in taking a leaf out of Sian's book every once in a while," Chris told her sternly, which shut Chrissie up momentarily. Then he said, "Like I said, there's nobody here except us."

"And old Dusty," said Chrissie, casting a frightened glance at the patch of carpet from which the corpse-figure had risen.

"Let's go up," said Chris, with an uneasy look at the same spot, and he led the way up the creaking stairs to the drawing room on the first floor.

Chrissie waved her wand to ignite the old gas lamps, then, shivering slightly in the draughty room, she perched on the sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around her. Chris crossed to the window and moved the heavy velvet curtains aside an inch.

"Can't see anyone out there," he reported. "And you'd think, if Kiara still had a Trace on her, they'd have followed us here. It was foolish of me to think such a thing, really. I know they can't get in the house, but - what's up, Kiara?"

I had given a cry of pain: my scar had burned again as something flashed across my mind like a bright star on water. I saw a large shadow and felt a fury that was not my own pound through my body, violent and brief as an electric shock.

"What did you see?" Chrissie asked suddenly, sitting up straight. "Did you see her at ours?"

"No, I just felt anger - she's really angry - "

"But that could be at the Manor," said Chrissie loudly. "What else? Didn't you see anything? Was she cursing someone?"

"No, I just felt anger - I couldn't tell - "

I felt badgered, confused, and Chris, for once, did not help as he said slowly, "Your scar, again? But what's going on? I thought that connection had closed!"

"It did, for a while," I muttered; my scar was still painful, which made it hard to concentrate. "I - I think it's started opening again whenever she loses control, that's how it used to - "

"More the reason to close your mind, then, Kiara!" said Chris sternly. "I love you, but you can't keep letting her in! That's why Ma wanted you to learn Occlumency, that's why she wanted you to shut it down! Otherwise Zira can plant false images in your mind, remember - "

"Yeah, I do remember, thanks," I said through gritted teeth. "You know, I already get enough of this from Sian, I don't need to hear it from you, too, Chris!"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt you to hear it from someone else every once in a while, now, would it?" Chris retorted.

I said nothing, but turned my back on Chris and Chrissie, pretending to examine the old tapestry of the Warts family tree on the wall; I did not need Chris to tell me that Zira had once used this self-same connection between us to lead me into a trap, nor that it had resulted in Pumbaa's death. I wished I had not told them what I had seen and felt; it made Zira more threatening, as though she were pressing against the window of the room, and still the pain in my scar was building and I fought it: it was like resisting the urge to be sick.

Suddenly, Chrissie screamed: I drew my wand again and spun round to see a silver Patronus soar through the drawing room window and land upon the floor in front of us, where it solidified into the bear that spoke with the voice of Chrissie's father.

 _"Family safe, as are Kiara's who are hidden safely, do not reply, we are being watched."_

The Patronus dissolved into nothingness. Chrissie let out a noise between a whimper and a groan and fell back on to the cushions: Chris ran over to her, put his arms around her and rubbed her consolingly.

"They're all right, they're all right!" he whispered, kissing her head, and Chrissie half laughed and hugged him.

"Kiara," she said over Chris' shoulder, "I - "

"It's not a problem," I said, sickened by the pain in my head. "It's your family, of course you're worried. I'd feel the same way." I thought of my own family. "I _do_ feel the same way."

The pain in my scar was reaching a peak, burning as it had done in the garden at Dawson Manor. Faintly, I heard Chrissie say, "I don't want to be on my own. Could we use the sleeping bags Sian brought and camp in here tonight?"

I heard Chris agree. I could not fight the pain much longer; I had to succumb.

"Bathroom," I muttered, and I left the room as fast as I could without running.

I barely made it: bolting the door behind me with trembling hands, I grasped my pounding head and fell to the floor, then, in an explosion of agony, I felt the rage that did not belong to me possess my soul, saw a long room, lit only by firelight, and the great, blonde Love Destroyer on the floor, screaming and writhing, and a slighter figure standing over her, wand outstretched, while a high, cold, merciless voice spoke.

"More, Tempest, or shall we end it and feed you to Namzo? Lady Zira is not sure that she will forgive this time ... You called me back for this, to tell me that Kiara Pride-Lander has escaped again? Danielle, give Tempest another taste of our displeasure ... do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"

A log fell in the fire: flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed white face - with a sense of emerging from deep water I drew heaving breaths and opened my eyes.

I was spread-eagled on the dirty, moss-covered wooden floor, my nose inches from one of the silver serpent tails that supported the large bathtub. I sat up, Malty's gaunt, petrified face seemed branded on the inside of my eyes. I felt sickened by what I had seen, by the use to which Dani was now being put by Lady Zira.

There was a sharp rap on the door and I jumped as Chrissie's voice rang out.

"Kiara, do you want your toothbrush? I've got it here."

"Yeah, great, thanks," I said, fighting to keep my voice casual as I stood up to let her in.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12**

 **Kleaner's Tale**

 **KIARA**

I woke the next morning, wrapped in a sleeping bag, resting on top of the sofa cushions, which Chris had insisted on me sleeping upon, so that my silhouette was raised above his. Chris' fingers were inches from my own, and I remembered that we had fallen asleep holding hands the night before. A chink of sky was visible between the heavy curtains: it was the cool, clear blue of watered ink, somewhere between night and dawn, and everything was quiet except for Chris and Chrissie's slow, deep breathing. I glanced over at the dark shapes they made on the floor beside me. Chrissie lay on the ground a few feet away, her back to me.

I looked up at the shadowy ceiling, the cobwebbed chandelier. Less than twenty-four hours ago I had been standing in the sunlight at the entrance to the marquee, talking to the boys. It seemed a lifetime away. What was going to happen now? I lay on the cushions and thought of the Horcruxes, of the daunting, complex mission Crighton had left me ... Crighton ...

The grief that had possessed me since Crighton's death felt different now. The accusations I had heard from Elizabeth at the wedding seemed to have rested in my brain, like diseased things, infecting my memories of the witch I had idolised. Could Crighton have let such things happen? Had she been like Carol, content to watch neglect and abuse as long as it did not affect her? Could she have turned her back on a brother who was being imprisoned and hidden?

I thought of the Pride Lands, of the graves Crighton had never mentioned there; I thought of the mysterious objects left, without explanation, in Crighton's will, and resentment swelled in the darkness. Why hadn't Crighton told me? Why hadn't she explained? I wondered if Crighton had actually cared about me at all? Or had I been nothing more than a tool to be polished and honed, but not trusted, never confided in?

I could not stand lying there with nothing but bitter thoughts for company. Desperate for something to do, for distraction, I slipped out of my sleeping bag, picked up my wand and crept out of the room. On the landing I whispered, _"Lumos,"_ and I started to climb the stairs by wandlight.

On the second landing was the bedroom in which Chrissie and I had slept last time we had been here; I glanced into it. The wardrobe doors stood open and the bedclothes had been ripped back. I then remembered the overturned troll's leg downstairs. Somebody had searched the house since the Order had left. Triphorm? Or perhaps Mona, who had pilfered plenty from the house both before and after Pumbaa had died? My gaze wandered to the portrait that sometimes contained Philomena Naenia Warts, Pumbaa's great-great-grandmother, but it was empty, showing nothing but a stretch of muddy backdrop. Philomena Naenia was evidently spending the night in the Headmistress' study at Dragon Mort.

I continued up the stairs until I reached the topmost landing, where there were only two doors. The one facing me bore a nameplate reading _Pumbaa_. I had never entered his room before. I pushed open the door, holding my wand high to cast light as widely as possible.

The room was spacious and must, once, have been handsome. There was a large bed with a carved wooden headboard, a tall window obscured by long velvet curtains and a chandelier thickly coated in dust, with candle stubs still resting in its sockets, solid wax hanging in frost-like drips. A fine film of dust covered the pictures on the walls and the bed's headboard; a spider's web stretched between the chandelier and the top of the large wooden wardrobe and as I moved deeper into the room, I heard a scurrying of disturbed mice.

The teenaged Pumbaa had plastered the walls with so many posters and pictures that little of the walls' silvery-grey silk was visible. I could only assume that Pumbaa's parents had been unable to remove the Permanent Sticking Charm that kept them on the wall, because I was sure they would not have appreciated their eldest son's taste in decoration. Pumbaa seemed to have gone out of his way to annoy his parents. There were several large Lion-Heart banners, faded scarlet and gold, just to underline his difference from all the rest of the Snake-Eyes family. There were many pictures of Muggle motorcycles, and also (I wrinkled my nose in disgust at Pumbaa's taste, but who was I to judge his habits?) several posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls; I could tell that they were Muggles because they remained quite stationary within their pictures, faded smiles and glazed eyes frozen on the paper. This was in contrast to the only wizarding photograph on the walls, which was a picture of four Dragon Mort students standing arm in arm, laughing at the camera.

With a leap of pleasure, I recognises my mother; her pale, straight blonde hair curling at the ends like mine. Beside her was Pumbaa, chubby yet handsome and moustache-free, his slightly arrogant face so much younger and happier than I had ever seen it alive. To Pumbaa's right stood Abster, more than a head shorter, plump and watery-eyed, flushed with pleasure at his inclusion in this coolest of gangs, with the much admired rebels that my mother and Pumbaa had been. On my mother's left was Meers, even then a little shabby-looking, but he had the same air of delighted surprise at finding himself liked and included ... or was it simply because I knew how it had been, that I saw these things in the picture? I tried to take it from the wall; it was mine now, after all - Pumbaa had left my family everything - but it would not budge. Pumbaa had taken no chances in preventing his parents from redecorating his room.

I looked around at the floor. The sky outside was growing brighter: a shaft of light revealed bits of paper, books and small objects scattered over the carpet. Evidently Pumbaa's bedroom had been searched too, although its contents seemed to have been judged mostly, if not entirely, worthless. A few of the books had been shaken roughly enough to part company with their covers, and sundry pages littered the floor.

I bent down, picked up a few of the pieces of paper and examined them. I recognised one as part of an old edition of _A History of Magic_ , by Bathilda Bagshot, and another as belonging to a motorcycle maintenance annual. The third was handwritten and crumpled: I smoothed it out.

 _Dear Tusks,_

 _Thank you, thank you, for Kiara's late Christening present! It was her favourite by far. Nearly a year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, she looked so pleased with herself, I'm enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground, but she nearly killed the cat and she smashed a horrible vase Mavuto sent Nala for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, Nala thought it was so funny, says she's going to be a great Quidditch player, but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off her when she gets going._

 _We had a quiet tea the other day, you know; just us, our mothers and old Imamu, who has always been sweet to our family and who dotes on Kiara. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the Order's got to come first and Kiara's not old enough to know what's going on in the world yet! Nala is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, she tries not to show it but I can tell - which is odd, because lately she's taken to sneaking out at night, undetected, and she tells no one, not even me, where she's going or what she's up to. How she sneaks out invisible, I have no idea, for Crighton's taken our Invisibility Cloak. I'm really worried about her, Tusks. Anyway, if you could visit, it would cheer her up so much. Wormy and his wife were here last weekend, I thought Wormy seemed down, but that was probably the news about the MacCarthys; I shed a few tears when I heard. Wormy's wife, however, seemed completely unfazed by the whole thing, which struck me as rather odd, but then she always has been a rather strange woman._

 _Imamu drops in most days, he's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Crighton, I'm not sure she'd be pleased if she knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Crighton_

My extremities seemed to have gone numb. I stood quite still, holding the miraculous paper in my nerveless fingers while inside me a kind of quiet eruption sent joy and grief thundering in equal measure through my veins. Lurching to the bed, I sat down.

I read the letter again but I could not take in any more meaning than I had done the first time, and therefore I was reduced to staring at the handwriting itself. I recognised who it belonged to immediately, having received several letters from him during my school career. This letter was written by my father, about me, Kiara, his daughter. Impatiently brushing away the wetness in my eyes, I reread the letter, this time concentrating on the meaning. It was like listening to a half-remembered voice.

We had had a cat ... perhaps it had perished in the Pride Lands ... or else fled when there was nobody left to feed it ... Pumbaa had brought me my first broomstick ... my parents had known Imamu Ibori; had Crighton introduced them? But how could she have, when Imamu was a close friend of my family? _Crighton's still got our Invisibility Cloak_ ... there was something funny there ...

I paused, pondering my father's words. Why had Crighton taken my parents' Invisibility Cloak? I distinctly remembered my Headmistress telling me, years before, _"I don't need a cloak to become invisible."_ Perhaps some less gifted order member had needed its assistance, and Crighton had acted as carrier? I passed on ...

 _Wormy and his wife were here_ ... Wormy, the traitor, had seemed "down", had he? And his equally traitorous wife had seemed "unfazed" by the deaths of my parents' friends, had she? Were they aware that they were talking to my parents for the last time in the Pride Lands?

And finally Imamu again, who told incredible stories about Crighton: _it seems incredible that Crighton -_

That Crighton what? But there were any number of things that would seem incredible about Crighton; that she had once received bottom marks in a Transfiguration test, for instance, or had taken up goat-charming like Sara ...

I got to my feet and scanned the floor: perhaps the rest of the letter was here somewhere. I seized papers, treating them, in my eagerness, with as little consideration as the original searcher; I pulled open drawers, shook out books, stood on a chair to run my hand over the top of the wardrobe and crawled under the bed and armchairs.

At last, lying face down on the floor I spotted what looked like a torn piece of paper under the chest of drawers. When I pulled it out, it proved to be most of the photograph my father had described in his letter. A golden-haired baby was zooming in and out of the picture on a tiny broom, roaring with laughter, and a pair of legs that I figured were my mother's were chasing after me. I tucked the photograph into my pocket with my father's letter and continued to look for the second sheet.

After another quarter of an hour, however, I was forced to conclude that the rest of my father's letter was gone. Had it simply been lost in the sixteen years that had elapsed since it had been written, or had it been taken by whoever had searched the room? I read the first sheet again, this time looking for clues as to what might have made the second sheet valuable. My toy broomstick could hardly be considered interesting to the Love Destroyers ... the only potentially useful thing I could see here was possible information on Crighton. _It seems incredible that Crighton_ \- what?

"Kiara? Kiara! _Kiara!_ "

"I'm here!" I called. "What happened?"

There was a clatter of footsteps outside the door, and Chris burst inside.

"We woke up and didn't know where you were!" he said breathlessly. He tuned and shouted over his shoulder, "Chrissie! I've found her!"

Chrissie's annoyed voice echoed distantly from several floors below.

"Good! Tell her from me she's a cow!"

"Kiara, don't just disappear, please, we were terrified! Why did you come up here, anyway?" He gazed around the ransacked room. "What have you been doing?"

"Look what I've just found."

I held out my father's letter. Chris took it and read it while I watched him. When he reached the end of the page, he looked up at me.

"Oh, Kiara ..."

"And there's this, too."

I handed him the torn photograph, and Chris smiled at the baby zooming in and out of sight on the toy broom.

"I've been looking around for the rest of the letter," I said, "but it's not here."

Chris glanced around.

"Did you make all this mess, or was some of it done when you got here?"

"Someone had searched before me," I said.

"I thought so. Every room I looked into on the way up had been disturbed. What were they after, do you think?"

"Information on the Order, if it was Triphorm."

"But you'd think she'd already have all she needed, I mean, she was _in_ the Order, wasn't she?"

"Well then," I said, keen to discuss my theory, "what about information on Crighton? The second page of this letter, for instance. You know this Imamu my dad mentions, you know who he is?"

"No, who?"

"Imamu Ibori, South Africa's magical historian, who's still living in the Pride Lands. Your Great-Aunt Lizzie was talking about him at the wedding. He knew your mum's family, too. Be pretty interesting to talk to, wouldn't he?"

There was a little too much understanding in the smile Chris gave me for my liking. I took back the letter and the photograph and tucked them inside the pouch around my neck, so as not to have to look at him and give myself away.

"I understand why you'd love to talk to him about your mum and dad, and Ma too," said Chris. "But, that wouldn't really help us in our search for the Horcruxes, would it?" I did not answer, and he rushed on, "Kiara, I know you really want to go to the Pride Lands, but I'm scared ... I'm scared at how easily those Love Destroyers found us yesterday. It just makes me feel more than ever that we ought to avoid the place where you were born, I'm sure they'd be expecting you to visit it, and I'm sure Sian feels that way, too."

"It's not just that," I said, still avoiding looking at him. "Elizabeth said some stuff about Crighton at the wedding. I want to know the truth ..."

I told Chris everything Elizabeth had told me. When I had finished, Chris said, "Of course, I can see why that's upset you, Kiara - "

" - I'm not upset," I lied, "I'd just like to know whether or not it's true or - "

"Kiara, do you really think you'll get the truth from a malicious old woman like Great-Aunt Lizzie, or from Peter Meter? How can you believe them? You knew Ma!"

"I thought I did!" I muttered.

"But you know how much truth there was in everything Meter wrote about you! Dodge is right, how can you let these people tarnish your memories of Ma?"

I looked away, trying not to betray the resentment I felt. There it was again: choose what to believe. I wanted the truth. Why was everybody so determined that I should not get it?

"You're not going to tell Sian any of this, are you?" Chris asked suddenly. "You know how fragile she is right now."

"Of course I won't," I promised him; much as I wanted Sian to know the truth, I knew that it would destroy her.

"So ... shall we go down to the kitchen?" Chris suggested after a little pause. "Find something for breakfast?"

I agreed, but grudgingly, and followed him out on to the landing and past the second door that led off it. There were deep scratch marks in the paintwork below a small sign that I had not noticed in the dark. I paused at the top of the stairs to read it. It was a pompous, little sign, neatly lettered by hand, the sort of thing that Perdy Fang might have stuck on her bedroom door:

 _Do Not Enter_

 _Without the Express Permission of_

 _Okoro Bakari Warts_

Excitement trickled through me, but I was not immediately sure why I read the sign again. Chris was already a flight of stairs below me.

"Chris," I said, and I was surprised that my voice was so calm. "Come back up here."

"What's the matter?"

"O.B.W. I think I've found him."

There was a gasp and then Chris ran back up the stairs.

"In your dad's letter? But I didn't see - "

I shook my head, pointing at Okoro's sign. He read it, then gasped again, much louder than before.

"Pumbaa's brother?" he muttered.

"He was a Love Destroyer," I said, "Pumbaa told me about him, he joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave - so they killed him."

"That fits!" gasped Chris. "If he was a Love Destroyer, he had access to Zira, and if he became disenchanted then he would have wanted to bring Zira down!"

He then leaned over the banister and shouted, "Chrissie! CHRISSIE! Get up here, quick!"

Chrissie appeared, panting, a minute later, her wand ready in her hand.

"What's up? If it's massive spiders again, I want breakfast before I - "

She frowned at the sign on Okoro's door, to which Chris was silently pointing.

"What? That was Pumbaa's brother, wasn't it? Okoro Bakari ... Okoro ... _O.B.W.!_ The locket - you don't reckon - ?"

"Let's find out," I said. I pushed the door: it was locked. Chris pointed his wand at the handle and said, _"Alohomora."_ There was a click, and the door swung open.

We moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Okoro's room was slightly smaller than Pumbaa's, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. Whereas Pumbaa had sought to advertise his difference from the rest of the family, Okoro had striven to emphasise the opposite. The Snake-Eyes colours of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls and the windows. The Warts family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, _Sans Cesse Pollwe_. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Chris crossed the room to examine them.

"They're all about Zira," he said. "Okoro seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Love Destroyers ..."

A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as he sat down to read the clippings. I, meanwhile, had noticed another photograph: a Dragon Mort Quidditch team was smiling and waving out of the frame. I moved closer and saw the snake emblazoned on their chests: Snake-Eyes. Okoro was instantly recognisable as the boy sitting in the middle of the front row: he had the same dark hair as his brother, though he was smaller, thinner, slighter and less good-looking than Pumbaa had been.

"He played Seeker," I said.

"What?" said Chris vaguely; he was still immersed in Zira's press clippings.

"He's sitting in the middle of the front row, that's where the Seeker ... never mind," I said, realising that nobody was listening: Chrissie was on her hands and knees, searching under the wardrobe. I looked around the room for likely hiding places and approached the desk. Yet again, somebody had searched before us. The drawers' contents had been turned over recently, the dust disturbed, but there was nothing of value there: old quills, out of date textbooks that bore evidence of being roughly handled, a recently smashed ink bottle, its sticky residue covering the contents of the drawer.

"There's an easier way," said Chris, as I wiped my inky fingers on my jeans. He raised his wand and said, _"Accio locket!"_

Nothing happened. Chrissie, who had been searching the folds of the faded curtains, looked disappointed.

"Is that it, then? It's not here?"

"Oh, it could still be here, but under counter-enchantments," said Chris. "Charms to prevent it being summoned magically, you know."

"Like Zira put on the stone basin in the cave," I said, remembering how I had been unable to summon the fake locket.

"How are we supposed to find it, then?" asked Chrissie.

"We searched manually," said Chris.

"That's a good idea," said Chrissie, rolling her eyes, and she resumed her examination of the curtains.

We combed every inch of the room for over an hour, but we were forced, finally, to conclude that the locket was not there.

The sun had risen now; its light dazzled us even through the grimy landing windows.

"It could be somewhere else in the house, though," said Chris in a rallying tone as we walked back downstairs: as Chrissie and I had become more discouraged, he seemed to have become more determined. "Whether he'd managed to destroy it or not, he'd want to keep it hidden from Zira, wouldn't he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were last here? That clock that shot bolts at everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Chrissie; Okoro might have put them there to protect the locket's hiding place, even though we didn't realise it at ... at ... "

Chrissie and I looked at him. He was standing with one foot in mid-air, with the dumbstruck look of one who had just been Obliviated; his eyes had even drifted out of focus.

" ... at the time," he finished in a whisper.

"Something wrong?" asked Chrissie.

"There was a locket."

"What?" Chrissie and I said together.

"In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it ... and we ... we ..."

I felt as though a brick had slid down through my chest into my stomach. I remembered: I had even handled the thing as we passed it round, each of us trying in turn to prise it open. It had been tossed into a sack of rubbish, along with the snuffbox of Wartcap powder and the music box that made everyone sleepy ...

"Kleaner nicked loads of things back from us," I said. It was the only chance, the only slender hope we had left to us, and I was going to cling to it until forced to let go. "She had a whole stash of stuff in her cupboard in the kitchen. C'mon ..."

I ran down the stairs taking two steps at a time, the other two thundering along in my wake. We made so much noise that we woke the portrait of Pumbaa's mother as we passed through the hall.

 _"Filth! Mudbloods! Sackbrains! Scum!"_ she screamed after us as we dashed down into the basement kitchen and slammed the door behind us.

I ran the length of the room, skidded to a halt at the door of the Kleaner's cupboard and wrenched it open. There was the nest of dirty, old blankets in which the house-elf had once slept, but they were no longer glittering with the trinkets Kleaner had salvaged. The only thing there was an of copy of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. Refusing to believe my eyes, I snatched up the blankets and shook them. A dead mouse fell out and rolled dismally across the floor. Chris groaned as he threw himself into a kitchen chair; Chrissie closed her eyes, bowed her head and shook it solemnly.

"It's not over yet," I said, and I raised my voice and called, _"Kleaner!"_

There was a loud _crack_ and the house-elf that my family had so reluctantly inherited from Pumbaa appeared out of nowhere in front of the cold and empty fireplace: tiny, half-human-sized, her pale skin hanging off her in folds, white hair sprouting copiously from her bat-like ears. She was still wearing the filthy rags in which we had first met her, and the contemptuous look she bent upon me showed that her attitude to her change of ownership had altered no more than her outfit.

"Mistress," croaked Kleaner in her bullfrog's voice, and she curtseyed low, muttering to her knees, "back in my mistress' old house with the blood traitor Dawson and the half-blood scum - "

"I forbid you to call anyone 'blood traitor' or 'scum'," I growled. I would have found Kleaner, with her snout-like nose and bloodshot eyes, a distinctly unlovable object even if the elf had not betrayed my parents and Pumbaa to Zira.

"I've got a question for you," I said, my heart beating rather fast as I looked down at the elf, "and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," said Kleaner, curtseying low again: I saw her lips moving soundlessly, undoubtedly framing the insults she was now forbidden to utter.

"Two years ago," I said, my heart now hammering against my ribs, "there was a big silver locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it back?"

There was a moment's silence, during which Kleaner straightened up to look me full in the face. Then she said, "Yes."

"Where is it now?" I asked jubilantly, as Chris and Chrissie looked gleeful.

Kleaner closed her eyes as though she could not bear to see our reactions to her next word.

"Gone."

"Gone?" I echoed, elation floating out of me. "What do you mean, it's gone?"

The elf shivered. She swayed.

"Kleaner," I said fiercely, "I order you - "

"Mona Fetch," croaked the elf, her eyes still tight shut. "Mona Fetch stole it all: Miss Katie and Master Latch's pictures, my mistress' gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and, and - "

Kleaner was gulping for air: her hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then her eyes flew open and she uttered a blood-curdling scream.

 _" - and the locket, Master Okoro's locket, Kleaner did wrong, Kleaner failed in her orders!"_

I reacted instinctively: as Kleaner lunged for the poker standing in the grate, I launched myself upon the elf, flattening her. Chrissie's scream mingled with Kleaner's, but I bellowed louder than both of them: "Kleaner, I order you to stay still!"

I felt the elf freeze and released her. Kleaner lay flat on the cold stone floor, tears gushing from her sagging eyes.

"Kiara, perhaps you should - let her up?" Chris suggested nervously.

"So she can beat herself up with the poker?" I snorted, kneeling beside the elf. "I don't think so. Right, Kleaner, I want the truth: how do you know Mona Fetch stole the locket?"

"Kleaner saw her!" gasped the elf, as tears poured over her snout and into her mouth full of greying teeth. "Kleaner saw her coming out of Kleaner's cupboard with her arms full of Kleaner's treasures. Kleaner told the sneakthief to stop, but Mona Fetch laughed and r-ran ..."

"You called the locket 'Master Okoro's'," I said. "Why? Where did it come from? What did Okoro have to do with it? Kleaner, sit up and tell me everything you know about that locket, and everything Okoro had to do with it!"

The elf sat up, curled into a ball, placed her wet face between her knees and began to rock backwards and forwards. When she spoke, her voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing kitchen.

"Master Pumbaa ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my mistress' heart with being around his lawless friends. But Master Okoro had proper pride; he knew what was due to the name of Warts and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked of the Scarlet Lady, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles, the Sackbrains and the Muggle-borns ... and when he was sixteen years old, Master Okoro joined the Scarlet Lady. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve ...

"And one day, a year after he had joined, Master Okoro came down to the kitchen to see Kleaner. Master Okoro always liked Kleaner. And Master Okoro said ... he said ..."

The old elf rocked faster than ever.

" ... he said that the Scarlet Lady required an elf."

"Zira needed an _elf_?" I repeated, looking round at Chris and Chrissie, who looked just as puzzled as I did.

"Oh yes," moaned Kleaner. "And Master Okoro had volunteered Kleaner. It was an honour, said Master Okoro, an honour for him and for Kleaner, who must be sure to do whatever the Scarlet Lady ordered her to do ... and then to c-come home."

Kleaner rocked still faster, her breath coming in sobs.

"So Kleaner went to the Scarlet Lady. The Scarlet Lady did not tell Kleaner what they were to do, but took Kleaner with her to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great, red lake ..."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Kleaner's croaking voice seemed to come to me from across the dark water. I saw what had happened as clearly as though I had been present.

" ... there was a boat ..."

Of course there had been a boat; I knew the boat, ghostly green and tiny, bewitched so as to carry one wizard and one victim towards the island in the centre. This, then, was how Zira had tested the defences surrounding the Horcrux: by borrowing a disposable creature, a house-elf ...

"There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The S-Scarlet Lady made Kleaner drink it ..."

The elf quaked from head to foot.

"Kleaner drank, and as she drank, she saw terrible things ... Kleaner's insides burned ... Kleaner cried for Master Okoro to save her, she cried fro Mistress Warts, but the Scarlet Lady only laughed ... she made Kleaner drink all the potion ... she dropped a locket into the empty basin ... she filled it with more potion.

"And then the Scarlet Lady sailed away, leaving Kleaner on the island ..."

I could see it happening. I watched Zira's white, snake-like face vanishing into the darkness, those red eyes fixed piteously on the thrashing elf whose death would occur within minutes, whenever she succumbed to the desperate thirst that the burning potion caused its victim ... but here, my imagination could go no further, for I could not see how Kleaner had escaped.

"Kleaner needed water, she crawled to the island's edge and she drank from the red lake ... and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kleaner under the surface ..."

"How did you get away?" I asked, and I was not surprised to hear myself whispering.

Kleaner raised her ugly head and looked at me with her great, bloodshot eyes.

"Master Okoro told Kleaner to come back," she said.

"I know - but how did you escape the Inferi?"

Kleaner did not seem to understand.

"Master Okoro told Kleaner to come back," she repeated.

"I know, but - "

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it, Kiara?" said Chrissie. "She Disapparated!"

"But ... you couldn't Apparate in and out of that cave," I said, "otherwise Crighton - "

"Elf magic isn't like wizard magic, is it?" said Chrissie. "I mean, they can Disapparate in and out of Dragon Mort when we can't."

There was silence as I digested this. How could Zira have made such a mistake? But even as I thought this, Chrissie's phone rang, making us all jump. Chrissie took out her phone, checked the caller I.D. and gasped.

"Who is it, Chrissie?" said Chris.

"It's Sian!" she said delightedly. Chris and I smiled at each other, as Chrissie pressed the answer button and hit the speakerphone icon. Holding the phone away from her, she asked, "Sian, is that you?"

"Yes, Chrissie, it's me," Sian answered, and Chris, Chrissie and I looked at each other, smiling in relief, as a weight none of us realised was there until that moment was lifted from our hearts, just from hearing Sian's voice. "How are you?"

"We're fine," said Chrissie. "How are you and the others, Sian?"

"Shaken, but otherwise all right," she answered. "Where are you three?"

"Pumbaa's House, and you'll never guess what, Sian? We found out who O.B.W. is!"

"Who?" said Sian eagerly.

"Pumbaa's brother, Okoro," Chrissie answered. "He joined the Love Destroyers when he was really young, but we don't quite know how he died yet."

"Well at least you figured out who it was," said Sian. There was a pause, then she added, "How did you figure it out?"

"Kiara did. She saw the name on Okoro's bedroom door and put the pieces together."

"Well done, Kiara. So, did you search his room? Did you find the locket?"

"Well, we did search his room, but it wasn't there. Turns out, the locket in question was the very same one we had thrown away only two years ago." Sian groaned, and Chrissie nodded in understanding; then, remembering that her sister couldn't see her, she said quickly, "I know, Sian, but Kiara quickly thought that Kleaner would know, so she, Chris, and I hurried to the kitchen to look at Kleaner's den. It wasn't there, so Kiara called Kleaner, who's here now, and she told us that Mona stole it from her, before telling us how Okoro got the locket, beginning when he had joined the Love Destroyers, and that a year later She-You-Know had told Okoro that she needed an elf, and Okoro thought of Kleaner. So Kleaner goes with She-You-Know to this cave, gets Kleaner to drink this potion, before dropping the locket in the basin where all this potion had been, before leaving Kleaner there on the island in the centre of a lake in the cave. Anyway, Kleaner was thirsty, so she drank from the lake, and dead hands reached out to drag her down, but Okoro told Kleaner to come back to him, so she Disapparated, and that's where we were before you called."

Sian, who had been listening attentively to this, then said icily, "Of course, Z - She-You-Know - would have considered the ways of house-elves far beneath her notice, just like all the pure-bloods who treat them like animals ... it would never have occurred to her that they might have magic that she didn't."

"The house-elf's highest law is her master's bidding," intoned Kleaner. "Kleaner was told to come home, so Kleaner came home ..."

"Well, then, you did what you were told, didn't you?" said Sian kindly. "You didn't disobey orders at all!"

Kleaner shook her head, rocking as fast as ever.

"So what happened when you got back?" I asked. "What did Okoro say when you told him what happened?"

"Master Okoro was very worried, very worried," croaked Kleaner. "Master Okoro told Kleaner to stay hidden, and not to leave the house. And then ... it was a little while later ... Master Okoro came to find Kleaner in her cupboard one night, and Master Okoro was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kleaner could tell ... and he asked Kleaner to take him to the cave, the cave where Kleaner had gone with the Scarlet Lady ..."

And so they had set off. I could visualise them clearly, the frightened old elf and the thin, dark Seeker who had quite resembled Pumbaa ... Kleaner knew how to open the concealed entrance to the underground cavern, knew how to raise the tiny boat; this time it was her beloved Okoro who sailed with her to the island with its basin of potion ...

"And he made you drink the potion?" I said, disgusted.

But Kleaner shook her head and wept. Sian gasped on the other end of the phone: she seemed to have understood something.

"M-Master Okoro took from his pocket a locket like the one the Scarlet Lady had," said Kleaner, tears pouring down either side of her snout-like nose. "And she told Kleaner to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets ..."

Kleaner's sobs came in great rasps now; I had to concentrate to understand her.

"And he ordered - Kleaner to leave - without him. And he told Kleaner - to go home - and never to tell my mistress - what he had done - but to destroy - the first locket. And he drank - all the potion - and Kleaner swapped the lockets - and watched ... as Master Okoro ... was dragged beneath the water ... and ..."

"Oh, Kleaner!" sighed Sian piteously, but the elf didn't seem to have heard her: she fell to the ground and banged her forehead on the floor.

"Stop her - stop her!" Sian cried, seeming to understand what was happening. "Oh, don't you see, now, how sick it is, the way they've got to obey?"

"Kleaner - stop, stop!" I shouted.

The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around her snout, a bruise already blooming on her pallid forehead where she had struck herself, her eyes bloodshot and swollen and swimming in tears. I had never seen anything so pitiful.

"So you brought the locket home," I said relentlessly, for I was determined to know the full story. "And you tried to destroy it?"

"Nothing Kleaner did made any mark upon it," moaned the elf. "Kleaner tried everything, everything she knew, but nothing, nothing would work ... so many powerful spells upon the casing, Kleaner was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open ... Kleaner punished herself, she tried again, she punished herself, she tried again. Kleaner failed to obey orders, Kleaner could not destroy the locket! And her mistress was mad with grief, because Master Okoro had disappeared, and Kleaner could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Okoro had f-f-forbidden her to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave ..."

Kleaner began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. I heard nothing from Sian's end. Chris and Chrissie, who were no fans of Kleaner's, looked troubled. I sat back on my heels and shook my head, trying to clear it.

"I don't understand you, Kleaner," I said finally. "Zira tried to kill you, Okoro died to bring Zira down, but you were happy to send my parents to Zira, and let Pumbaa chase after them? You were happy to go to Latchna and Katalina, and pass information to Zira through them ..."

"Kiara, Kleaner doesn't think like that," said Sian chokily. "She's a slave; house-elves are used to bad, even brutal treatment; what Zira did to Kleaner wasn't that far out of the common way. What do wizard wars mean to an elf like Kleaner? She's loyal to people who are kind to her, and Mrs Warts must have been, and Okoro certainly was, so she served them willingly and parroted their beliefs. I know what you're going to say," she went on, as I began to protest, "that Okoro changed his mind ... but he doesn't seem to have explained that to Kleaner, does he? And I think I know why. Kleaner and Okor's family were all safer if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Okoro was trying to protect them all."

"Pumbaa - "

"Pumbaa was horrible to Kleaner, Kiara, and it's no good thinking otherwise, because you know it's true. Kleaner had been alone for a long time when Pumbaa had come to live here, and she was probably starving for a bit of affection. I'm sure 'Master Latchy' and 'Miss Katie' were perfectly lovely to Kleaner when she turned up, so she did them a favour and told them everything they wanted to know. I've said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Zira did ... and so did Pumbaa."

I had no retort. As I watched Kleaner sobbing on the floor, I remembered what Crighton had said to me, mere hours after Pumbaa's death: _I do not think that Pumbaa ever saw Kleaner as a being with feelings as acute as a human's_ ...

"Kleaner," I said, after a while, "when you feel up to it, er ... please sit up."

"It was several minutes before Kleaner hiccoughed herself into silence. Then she pushed herself into a sitting position again, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes like a small child.

"Kleaner, I am going to ask you to do something," I said; I paused then, for I wanted to give the order kindly, but at the same time, I could not pretend that it was not an order.

"Kleaner, I want you, please, to go and find Mona Fetch. We need to find out where the locket - where Master Okoro's locket is. It's really important. We want to finish the work Master Okoro started, we want to - er - ensure that he didn't die in vain."

Kleaner dropped her fists and looked up at me.

"Find Mona Fetch?" she croaked.

"And bring her here, to Warts House," I said. "Do you think you could do that for us?"

As Kleaner nodded and got to her feet, I had a sudden inspiration. I pulled out Mina's purse and took out the fake Horcrux, the substitute locket in which Okoro had placed the note to Zira.

"Kleaner, I'd, er, like you to have this," I said, pressing the locket into the elf's hand. "This belonged to Okoro and I'm sure he'd want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you - "

"Overkill, mate," said Chrissie, as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery and threw herself back on to the ground.

It took us nearly half an hour to calm down Kleaner (during which, Sian hung up, but not before saying that she would be with us in a few days), who was so overcome to be presented with a Warts family heirloom for her very own that she was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally she was able to totter a few steps, we all accompanied her to her cupboard, watched her tuck up the locket safely in her dirty blankets, and assured her that we would make its protection out first priority while she was away. She then made three respectful curtsies to myself, Chris and Chrissie, before Disapparating with the usual loud _crack_.

Once she had gone, I turned to face Chris and Chrissie, who were both watching me anxiously. "What is it? Why do you stare at me that way?"

Chris spoke uneasily, "When Kleaner was describing the cave, you looked as though you recognised the place ... so I have to ask ... is the cave that she described the same one you and Ma went to ... the night Ma died?"

I nodded; Chris' face paled and Chrissie gasped.

"So that's why you didn't tell Sian what happened to Ma!" she said, surprised at just how quickly she had put two and two together. "You didn't want to upset her more than she already was!"

"Exactly," I said, "and I will tell her, but not now. It's still too soon for Sian to know." I then looked at Chris and Chrissie directly and asked them, "Promise me, both of you, that you will not tell Sian what you know, and let me speak to her when she's ready?"

Chris and Chrissie spoke at the same time.

"We will."

"We promise."

"Good," I said, knowing that I could trust and rely on my friends to keep this secret, and relieved to know that I had their support. "Now, shall we try and find something to eat in this old, run-down place?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 13**

 **The Bribe**

 **KIARA**

If Kleaner could escape a lake full of Inferi, I was confident that the capture of Mona would take a few hours at most, and I prowled the house all morning in a state of high anticipation. However, Kleaner did not return that morning, or even that afternoon. As something to do, I asked for Chrissie to send a message to Sian, asking her to try and bring her father with her whenever she would be coming to join us, to which Sian replied that she would do all she could to get him to come with her. I felt slightly encouraged by this news, but by nightfall I felt discouraged and anxious, for Kleaner had still not come back, and a supper composed largely of mouldy bread, upon which Chris had tried a variety of unsuccessful Transfigurations, did nothing to help.

Kleaner did not return the following day, nor the day after that, and we saw no sign of Sian or her father, either. However, two cloaked women had appeared in the forest outside Warts House, and they remained there into the night, gazing in the direction of the house that they could not see.

"Love Destroyers, for sure," said Chrissie, as she, Chris and I watched from the drawing room windows. "Reckon they know we're in here?"

"I don't think so," said Chris, though he looked frightened, "or they'd have sent Triphorm in after us, wouldn't they?"

"D'you reckon she's been in here and had her tongue tied by Grumpy's curse?" asked Chrissie.

"Yes," said Chris, "otherwise she'd have been able to tell that lot how to get in, wouldn't she? But they're probably watching to see whether we turn up. They know that Kiara and her family owns this house, after all."

"How do they - ?" I began.

"Wizarding wills are examined by the Ministry, remember? They'll know Pumbaa left you the place."

The presence of the Love Destroyers outside increased the ominous mood inside Warts House, as did the loss of Sian's presence inside it. We were so used to her presence that it was odd not seeing our master planner next to us all the time, and we had not heard a word from her since the day Kleaner went to find Mona Fetch, and the strain was starting to tell. Restless and irritable, Chrissie had developed an annoying habit of playing with the Deluminator in her pocket: this particularly infuriated Chris, who was whiling away the wait for Kleaner by carving wood and did not appreciate the way the lights kept flashing on and off.

"Will you stop doing that!" he cried on the third evening of Kleaner's absence, as all light was sucked from the drawing room yet again.

"Sorry, sorry!" said Chrissie, clicking the Deluminator and restoring the lights. "I don't know I'm doing it!"

"Well, can't you find something useful to occupy yourself?"

"What, like creating fancy pieces from wood and leaving splinters everywhere? Is that what you call useful?"

"It's far more useful than what you're doing!"

"Ma left me this, so maybe I'm supposed to use it!"

Unable to stand the bickering, I slipped out of the room unnoticed by either of them. I headed downstairs towards the kitchen, which I kept visiting because I was sure that was where Kleaner was most likely to reappear. Halfway down the flight of stairs into the hall, however, I heard a tap on the front door, then metallic clicks and the grinding of the chain.

Every nerve in my body seemed to tauten: I pulled out my wand, moved into the shadows beside the decapitated elf-heads and waited. The door opened: I saw a glimpse of the dark wood outside, and three cloaked figures edged into the hall and the latter closed the door behind them. The intruders all took a step forwards and Grumpy's voice asked, _"Tiana Triphorm?"_ Then the dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed at them, raising it's dead hand; one of them, a girl, screamed at the sight.

"None of us killed you, Susan," said a quiet voice.

The jinx broke: the dust figure exploded again, and it was impossible for us to make out the newcomers through the dense grey cloud it left behind.

I pointed my wand into the middle of it.

"Don't move!"

I had forgotten the portrait of Mrs Warts; at the sound of my yell, the curtains hiding her flew open and she began to scream, _"Mudbloods, Sackbrains and filth dishonouring my house - "_

Chris and Chrissie came crashing down the stairs behind me, wands pointing, like mine, at the unknown people, two of whom were standing with their arms raised, in the hall below.

"Hold your fire, it's me, Timon, with Matt and Sian."

"Oh, thank God," said Chris weakly, pointing his wand at Mrs Warts instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. Chrissie, too, lowered her wand, but I did not, and before Chris and Chrissie could rush downstairs to greet the newcomers, I threw out my free arm to stop them.

"Show yourself!" I called back.

Meers and Mr Dawson moved into the lamplight, hands still held high in a gesture of surrender, as Sian remained where she was, frozen.

"I am Timon Rowan Meers, werewolf, sometimes known as Moonshine, one of the four creators of the Scallywag's Map, married to Nana, usually known as Todd, and I bring with me Sian Dawson, the Eldest Dawson Girl, and Matthew Dawson, Sian, Chrissie and Chris' father and widower of Susan Crighton, their mother. I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Kiara, which takes the form of a lioness."

"Oh, all right," I said, "lowering my wand, "but I had to check, didn't I?"

"Speaking as your ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that you had to check. Chris, Chrissie, you shouldn't be quite so quick to lower your defences."

We were then distracted by a shuddering sob, and we didn't have to look far to see where it came from: Sian, who had not moved since the dust figure had shown itself, was sobbing shakily. Mr Dawson enveloped her in his arms, as Chris, Chrissie and I dashed down the stairs to where Meers was stood.

"I think the dust figure of her mother shocked Sian," Meers whispered to us. Chris, Chrissie and I turned to Sian, and from the little of her face that we could see looked traumatised, and I knew why: the shock and grief from losing her mother came back tenfold. She must have realised that we were there watching her, for she quickly turned her face away. Understanding that she needed to be alone with her father, I quickly took action.

"We'll be down in the kitchen when you're ready to join us."

Mr Dawson nodded his head and smiled in gratitude, before he focused on Sian, and Meers, Chris, Chrissie and I headed to the kitchen.

We only had to wait five minutes for Sian and Mr Dawson to join us; Sian still had fresh tear tracks on her cheeks and her eyes were red and swollen, but other than that there were no signs that she had recently been upset, for she seemed calmer and even had a smile for us. Chris, Chrissie and I received a hug from her and Mr Dawson before we all sat around the table. Meers pulled a few Butterbeers from beneath his travelling cloak and handed them to each of us.

"So, no sign of Tiana, then?" he asked.

"No," I said. "What's going on? Is everyone OK?"

"Yes," said Meers, "but we're all being watched. There were a couple of Love Destroyers out there - "

"What do you mean, 'were'?" I asked curiously.

"We Confunded them before sending them on their way," Mr Dawson answered. "I'm glad they didn't know that you're here, though, or this whole place would be swarming with them by now; they're staking out everywhere that's got any connection with you, Kiara. And I have to warn you now," he continued, speaking directly to me and lowering his voice as he spoke, "that you must stop saying She-You-Know's name now."

"Why? What's so wrong with saying Z- ?" I said, but Sian, Mr Dawson and Meers all silenced me.

"The name's been jinxed," Mr Dawson explained. "Ministry's doing - most likely under She-You-Know's orders. As soon as someone says the name, the Love Destroyers arrive instantly, breaking all enchantments, but I think the reason this place hasn't been ransacked yet is because it's under the Fidelius Charm, but the sooner you break the habit, the better."

"So _that's_ how those Love Destroyers found us the night of the wedding when we were in that all-night café!" Chrissie blurted out without thinking.

At Chrissie's words, Mr Dawson choked on his Butterbeer and Meers slopped most of his own down his front. Sian, however, slammed her bottle down on the table, which made all of us look at her; Sian's eyes were wide and unblinking, her nostrils and her chest heaving heavily.

 _"What?"_ she thundered, making us all flinch.

"Yeah, they ... um ... they found us just after we said the name," Chrissie stammered uneasily.

"So ... let me get this straight," said Sian slowly, "we're hearing that you three got almost killed by Love Destroyers now, when you could have texted me later that night to call you, for it was urgent news, or else tell me what happened when I called you the day after the wedding. Why didn't you, Chrissie? Why?"

"Well, I ... I didn't think it was important - "

 _"Not important?"_ Sian screamed. "Chrissie, you three could have died that night, and our family and Kiara's would have been none the wiser. Do you have any idea of what that would do to us, especially after Ma?"

Sian said nothing after that, choosing instead to glare at us in turn in stony, disapproving silence. Chrissie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Chris and I looked at each other. How could we have been so foolish as to not tell Sian? But more than that: how could we have forgotten to tell Sian what happened in the first place?

"Sian ... we're sorry - " said Chrissie desperately.

"So you should be!" Sian snapped. "I expected so much more than this from the three of you ..." Then Sian sighed deeply, and added in a softer tone, "But I'm glad you're all safe, more than anything else."

Chris and I raised our heads and Chrissie smiled slightly. I then asked Sian, Mr Dawson and Meers, "So, what took you so long to get here, anyway?"

"Well, like I said before," said Meers, "we're being followed, so we had to tread carefully. Fortunately, Sian was able to ensure that we could get here without attracting the Love Destroyers' attention."

"Really, how?" I asked.

"Well, you know when you come in through the hallway at the Manor, and you see the rug on the floor?" Sian asked. I nodded, and she continued, "Well, under that rug lies a trap door, down which lies a tunnel that leads to an underground bunker, equipped with beds and food, and beyond that the tunnel continues to an old mill, which lies ten miles beyond the Manor, and which none of the Love Destroyers know anything about."

"Wow, that's amazing!"

"Why, thank you, Kiara," said Sian. "My parents had it made in case we ever needed to make a quick getaway. We also hid your parents down there after you, Chris and Chrissie left. They're safe, don't worry, but unfortunately they have to keep drinking Polyjuice Potion (I had to leave a couple of vials behind for them), and Tanya and Geri had to get more hairs for them. They're not too happy about the predicament they're under, but they understand."

"I've also spoken to Arachne Beadu and told her what had happened," Mr Dawson said. "Fortunately, she agreed to help Simba and Nala, and already has some Polyjuice Potion brewing, until I give her word to stop so that I can move everyone to a safer location."

"You don't plan staying at the Manor?" Chris asked.

"Not forever," Mr Dawson sighed. "For now, it'll keep, but I need some place safer to keep my family for as long as this war goes on. I've asked around, and Elizabeth, stubborn as she is, has said that she has toom for us when we're ready, but would like to be warned first."

"I can't imagine why," I said, and everyone laughed. After the laughter died down, I said, "Tell us what happened after we left, we haven't heard a thing since you, Sian, told us that everything was fine."

"Well, Kara saved us," said Meers. "Thanks to her warning, and the Cloaking Charm surrounding Dawson Manor, many of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived."

"Were they Love Destroyers or Ministry people?" interjected Chris.

"A mixture, but to all intents and purposes they're the same thing now," said Meers. "There were about a dozen of them, but they didn't know you or your parents were there, Kiara. Matt heard a rumour that She-You-Know personally tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimwazz before she killed her; if it's true, she didn't give you away."

I looked at Chris and Chrissie; their expressions reflected the mingled shock and gratitude I felt. I had never liked Scrimwazz much, but if what Meers said was true, the woman's final act had been to try to protect me and my family.

"The Love Destroyers searched the Manor from top to bottom," said Mr Dawson. "They found the A.I., but didn't want to get too close - and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you and your family, Kiara, but, of course, nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there.

"At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Love Destroyers were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths," he added quickly, forestalling the question, "but they were rough. They burned down Delilah Doddle's house, but as you know she wasn't there, and they used the Cruciatus Curse on Todd's family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. They're all right - shaken, obviously, but otherwise OK."

I noticed Meers' grip on his Butterbeer bottle tightened at Mr Dawson's last words as his hand was shaking violently. I then turned to Mr Dawson and, remembering how effective the protective enchantments had been on the night I had crashed in Todd's parents' garden, I asked him, "And the Love Destroyers got through all those protective charms?"

"What you've got to realise, Kiara, is that the Love Destroyers have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now," said Mr Dawson. "They've got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we'd cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they'd come."

"And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Kiara and her family's whereabouts out of people?" asked Chris, an edge to his voice.

"Well," said Meers. He hesitated and turned to Mr Dawson, who shrugged and gave him a look that said "just show her". So Meers then had no choice but to pull out a folded copy of the _Daily Squabbler_.

"Here," he said, pushing it across the table to me, "you'll know sooner or later anyway. That's their pretext for going after you."

I smoothed out the paper. A large photograph of my own face filled the front page. I read the headline over it:

 _WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF SUSAN CRIGHTON_

Chris and Chrissie gave roars of outrage, but I said nothing. I pushed the newspaper away; I did not want to read any more: I knew what it would say. Nobody but those who had been on top of the tower when Crighton died knew who had really killed her and, as Peter Meter had already told the wizarding world, I had been seen running from the place moment after Crighton had fallen. Besides, I knew of another reason why the _Squabbler_ had printed this.

"They think it'll make me come running, don't they?" I said. "And that when they find me, I'll tell them where my parents or, or they'll come running to my aid, won't they?"

"That is what the Love Destroyers intend how you, Simba and Nala will think, yes," said Mr Dawson solemnly.

"We're sorry, kid," said Meers.

"So Love Destroyers have taken over the _Daily Squabbler_ too?" asked Chris furiously.

Meers nodded.

"But surely people realise what's going on?"

"The coup has been smooth and virtually silent," said Meers. "The official version of Scrimwazz's murder is that she resigned; she has been replaced by Prudence Thicko, who is under the Imperius Curse."

"Why didn't She-You-Know declare herself Minister for Magic?" asked Chrissie.

Sian, Mr Dawson and Meers all laughed.

"Chrissie, the reality of the situation is that she _is_ Minister for Magic," said Sian. "But she doesn't want people to know, which is precisely why she has her puppet, Thicko, taking care of everyday matters, while the Evil Scary Lady goes off to do ... well, whatever the hell it is that she wants to."

"Exactly," said Mr Dawson. "Naturally, though, people have deduced what has happened: there has been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that She-You-Know must be behind it. However, that is the point: they whisper. They daren't confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, She-You-Know is playing a very clever game. Declaring herself might have provoked open rebellion: remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty and fear."

"And this dramatic change in Ministry policy," I said, "involves warning the wizarding world against me instead of Z - She-You-Know?"

"That's certainly part of it," said Meers," and it is a masterstroke. Now that Crighton is dead, you - the Girl Who Lived - along with your parents were sure to be the rallying point for any resistance to She-You-Know. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hero's death, She-You-Know has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have supported you."

"Meanwhile," sighed Mr Dawson, "things aren't looking good for Muggle-borns and bright-brains."

"How so, Dad?" asked Chrissie.

"Because the Ministry has started turning against them. From what I've heard, Muggle-borns are being suspected of stealing magic, and the bright-brains are suspected of possessing knowledge that the rest of us don't know about, so the Ministry's summoning all the Muggle-borns and bright-brains to trial, where the Muggle-borns have to prove that they have at least one wizarding ancestor, or else the Ministry will believe that they have stolen magic by force; and as for the bright-brains, the Ministry wants to examine their minds, and if they resist, the Ministry will take what they want by force. Either way, if both parties are found guilty, they will face severe consequences. Poor Hermione ..." finished Mr Dawson, shaking his head sadly.

"This is insane!" said Chris furiously.

"People won't let this happen," said Chrissie.

"It _is_ happening, Chrissie," said Meers. "Muggle-borns and bright-brains are being rounded up as we speak."

"But how are Muggle-borns supposed to have 'stolen' magic, and bright-brains 'possess knowledge the rest of us don't know about'?" said Chrissie. "It's mental, if you could steal magic there wouldn't be any Squibs, would there? And bright-brains are just more intelligent in general; they have power that creates space in their minds for more material, and therefore help the rest of us understand things better. It's ridiculous to even think such things, never mind suggesting them!"

"I know," said Meers. "Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close wizarding relative, or else that you are quite dim-witted, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally, and copied what you know from every subject in the study, and must suffer the punishment."

Chrissie then glanced at Sian, then said, "What if we could hide Sian? Protect her from all this?"

Sian smiled at Chrissie.

"As grateful as I am for your suggestion, you sweet, simple, dim-witted fool, I'm afraid to say that hiding me will not work, for you are missing one teeny-weensy, tiny little detail here."

"And what's that?"

"That you, me and Chris are friends of Kiara, who we just happen to be on the run with, and is one of the most wanted witches in the country, so hiding won't help me now. If I were going back to Dragon Mort, however, it would be different. And speaking of Dragon Mort, what is the Evil Scary Lady planning for the school?" she asked her father.

"Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard," he replied. "That was announced yesterday. It's a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch or wizard in Britain has been educated at either Dragon Mort or Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred. This way, Zira will have the whole wizarding population under her eye from a young age. And it's also another way of weeding out Muggle-borns and bright-brains, because students must be given Blood and Mind Status - meaning that they have proven to the Ministry that they are of wizard descent and are not exceptionally bright - before they are allowed to attend." Mr Dawson paused, put his head in his hands, and said, "I don't want to send any of my children back to school, but I find some comfort in knowing that Deidre and many of the other teachers there will look after them."

"Of course they will, Dad," said Sian, taking her father's hand. "I know that nowhere is safe any more, but don't forget that there are good and bad people everywhere. And if it makes you feel any better, you aren't the only one who is concerned for the rest of your children."

Mr Dawson squeezed his daughter's hand, smiled at his oldest and said, "Thanks, love." He then drew her to him and kissed her forehead.

Meanwhile, I felt sickened and angry: at this moment excited eleven-year-olds would be pouring over stacks of newly purchased spellbooks, unaware that they would never see Dragon Mort, perhaps never see their families again, either.

"It's ... it's ..." I muttered, struggling to find the words that did justice to the horror of my thoughts, but Meers said quietly, "I know."

Meers hesitated.

"I'll understand if you can't confirm this, Kiara, but the Order is under the impression that Crighton left you a mission."

"She did," I replied, "and Chris, Sian and Chrissie are in on it and they're coming with me."

"Can you confide in me what the mission is?"

I looked into the prematurely face, framed in thick but greying hair, and I so wished that I could have returned a different answer.

But I could not.

"I'm sorry, Timon, I can't. If Crighton didn't tell you or anyone else in the Order, then I don't think I can."

"I thought you'd say that," said Meers, looking disappointed. "But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to."

I hesitated. It was a very tempting offer, though how we would be able to keep our mission secret from Meers if he were here with us all the time was a very difficult thing for me to imagine.

Sian, however, looked puzzled.

"What about Todd?" she asked.

"What about her?" said Meers.

"Well," said Sian, frowning, "you're married! How does she feel about you going away with us?"

"Todd will be perfectly safe," said Meers. "She'll be at her parents' house."

"and ... have you discussed this with her at all?" Sian asked hesitantly.

Meers looked uneasy as he answered. "We have. She wants me to stay with her, which is understandable, of course, but she understands why I want to help you."

I found that there was something strange in Meers' tone; it was almost cold. There was also something odd in the idea of Todd remaining hidden at her parents' house; she was, after all, a member of the Order and, as far as I know, was likely to want to be in the thick of the action.

"Timon," said Sian tentatively, "is everything all right ... you know ... between you and - "

"Everything is fine, thank you," said Meers pointedly.

Sian turned pink. There was a pause, an awkward and embarrassed one, and then Meers said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant, "Todd is going to have a baby."

"Oh, wonderful!" squealed Sian.

"Excellent!" said Chris enthusiastically.

"Congratulations," I said.

"Sweet, man, a baby cub!" said Chrissie jubilantly. At these words, Meers' face blanched and Mr Dawson pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and shook his head. Chrissie, realising what she had just said, looked horrified with herself and said quickly, !I'm sorry, Timon, I didn't mean - "

"It's all right, no harm done," said Meers, wearing a wooden smile. Then, turning to me, he said, "So ... do you accept my offer? Will four become five? I cannot believe that Crighton would have been disappointed, she appointed me your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe that we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined."

Chris, Sian and Chrissie all looked at me.

"Just - just to be clear," I said. "You want to leave Todd at her parents' house and come away with us?"

"She'll be perfectly safe there, they'll look after her," said Meers. He spoke with a finality bordering on indifference. "Kiara, I'm sure Simba and Nala would want me to stick with you."

"Speaking of my parents," I said slowly, "did you speak with them about this before coming to see us?"

The look on Meers' face told me everything I wanted to know.

"I thought so," I said. "And tell me - tell us all, Timon - why you never spoke to my parents about this, and why you are choosing to run away from your family, being - in short - a coward?"

What little colour Meers had regained in his face in the last few minutes was suddenly trained. The temperature in the kitchen might have dropped ten degrees. Chris looked down at his hands resting on the table; Sian's eyes swivelled back and forth between Meers and I; Chrissie stared around the room as though she had been bidden to memorise it; and Mr Dawson was surveying Meers closely.

"You don't understand," said Meers at last.

"Explain, then," I said.

Meers swallowed.

"I - I made a mistake - a _grave_ mistake - in marrying Todd. I did it against my better judgement and I have regretted it very much ever since."

"But you love her, don't you?" asked Sian. "That must count for something, at least."

"Regardless," said Meers, "don't you realise what I've done to Todd - too her and my unborn child - by marrying her?"

"I don't - " I began, but Meers cut across me.

"I've made them both outcasts, that's what I've done! You don't understand what it's like for me - none of you do! You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Crighton's protection at Dragon Mort! You don't know how most of the wizarding world still sees creatures like me! Yes, when some know of my affliction, they will smile and offer me a comforting word or a kind gesture - but there are those who are still stuck in the old ways, who are disgusted and repulsed by me! Don't you see what I've done? Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents would want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child - the child - "

Meers actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged.

"My kind don't usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it - how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!"

"Timon!" Sian whispered, shocked at what she had just heard. "Don't say that - how could any child be ashamed of you, when you have got so much more to offer."

Meers looked up at Sian then, shocked at her words. But before he could say anything, Sian pressed on.

"Yes, you're a werewolf, but that's just one part of you, Timon. There are so many other good qualities about you, qualities that you won't allow yourself to see, because you are blinded by your own self-loathing. So maybe, just maybe, it's time you learned to forgive yourself and start viewing yourself as those close to you view you, and not how you view yourself."

All of us were stunned by Sian's words, until the silence was broken by a chuckle from Mr Dawson. The rest of us turned to look at him; he gazed at Sian proudly before he turned to Meers and said, "Always trust a Dawson, Timon. We can never lead you astray, particularly the wise ones."

"Thanks, Dad," said Sian, allowing her father to draw her to him and kiss her on the crown of her head.

Sian's words gave me the confidence to speak my mind, so I said, "If you ask me, Timon, I think you're choosing the easy path over the right one if you were to come with us. But you're not. It's the easy way out. And let me ask you this: what happens if you die? And yes, Timon, I am well aware that that is the fate that awaits us all," I hurried on, before Meers could interrupt me, "but the point I'm trying to make is is that one day your child is going to ask about you, which is natural, of course, seeing as all kids ask questions about their parents - but have you ever given a thought as to what people will tell the child, hmm? How they would tell it how you abandoned the poor thing and its mother? For I think that once the child found out the truth, that only then would it be ashamed of you. I know I would be."

I could tell my words were affecting Timon: tears were in his eyes, but I had to get my point across.

"I know this is hard for you to hear, Timon, but the only way to keep improving things for your kind is to fight, not only for what you believe in, but also for what is important to you - and you've got that, Timon, sitting right in front of you, but running away from your family is not the right option. It's the cowardly one, and you are not a coward, Timon. You are a good man, who I know will do good and stand by his family. Question is, will be brave enough to do so?"

Meers rubbed his eyes and said, "I'm being a fool, I see that now." Meers and I then shared a brief smile of understanding, before his smile faded and he said, "But are you sure, Kiara, that neither Matt nor I nor anyone else can know what you, Chris, Sian and Chrissie are up to?"

I shook my head and said, "I'm sorry, Timon, but if Crighton didn't tell you herself, then I don't think we should, either. And that's all I'm going to say on the matter.

Meers nodded, and fortunately didn't ask me any more questions. We relapsed into a comfortable silence, and needing something to do I looked at the paper, drew it to me and turned a page loudly, where Crighton's name leapt out at me. It was a moment or two before I took in the meaning of the photograph, which showed a family group. Beneath the photograph were the words: _The Crighton family: left to right, Susan, Johnathon, holding newborn Sean, Lillian and Sara._

My attention caught, I examined the picture more carefully. Crighton's father, Johnathon, was a good-looking man with eyes that seemed to twinkle from behind square spectacles, even in this faded old photograph. The baby, Sean, was little longer than a loaf of bread and no more distinctive-looking. The mother, Lillian, had honey-blonde hair pulled in a high bun, and despite the high-necked silk gown she wore, it did nothing to cover up the fact that she was quite short. Susan and Sara wore matching lacy dresses and had identical, shoulder-length hairstyles. Susan looked several years older, but otherwise the two girls looked very alike, for this was before Susan's nose had been broken.

The family looked quite happy and normal, smiling serenely up out of the newspaper. Baby Sean's arm waved vaguely out of his shawl. I looked above the picture and saw the headline:

 _EXCLUSIVE EXTRACY FROM THE UPCOMING BIOGRAPHY OF SUSAN CRIGHTON by Peter Meter_

Thinking that whatever Meter had to say couldn't be that bad (stupid thinking, I know), and curious as to what the man had to say, I began to read:

 _Proud and haughty, Johnathon Crighton could not bear to remain in Bootle after his wife Lillian's well-publicised arrest and imprisonment in Azkaban. He therefore decided to uproot and, rather drastically some say, relocate to the Pride Lands in South Africa, the village that was later to gain fame as the scene of Kiara Pride-Lander's strange escape from She-You-Know._

 _Like Bootle, which is part of the area of Liverpool and is made up of a mixture of Muggles and wizards, such as the Pride Lands, but as Johnathon knew none of the wizarding families there, he would be spared the curiosity about her wife's crime he had faced in his former town. By repeatedly rebuffing the friendly advances of his new wizarding neighbours, he soon ensured that his family was left well alone._

 _"Slammed the door in my face when I went round to welcome him with a batch of homemade cauldron cakes, but he was polite when the guard came knocking on his door to welcome him, which I understand, of course, as that would have been rude, and I am not sure the ... one in charge of the Pride Lands would have taken it kindly," says Imamu Ibori. "The first year they were there I only ever saw the two girls. Wouldn't have known there was a son if I hadn't been picking Plangentines by moonlight the winter after they moved in, and saw Johnathon leading Sean out into the back garden. Walked him round the lawn once, keeping a firm grip on him, then took him back inside. Didn't know what to make of it."_

 _It seems that Johnathon thought the move to the Pride Lands was the perfect opportunity to hide Sean once and for all, something he had probably been planning for years. The timing was significant. Sean was barely seven years old when he vanished from sight, and seven is the age by which most experts agree that magic will have revealed itself, if present. Nobody now alive remembers Sean ever demonstrating even the slightest sign of magical ability. It seems clear, therefore, that Johnathon made a decision to hide his son's existence rather than suffer the shame of admitting that he had produced a Squib. Moving away from the friends and neighbours who knew Sean would, of course, make imprisoning him all the easier. The tiny number of people who henceforth knew of Sean's existence could be counted upon to keep the secret, including his two sisters, who deflected awkward questions with the answer their father taught them: "My brother is too frail for_ _school."_

 _Next week: Susan Crighton at school - the prizes and the_ pretence.

I had been wrong: what I had read had been that bad and so much more. I looked back at the photograph of the apparently happy family, ignoring the quiet conversation that was happening between Mr Dawson, Chris, Sian, Chrissie and Meers. Was it true? How could I find out? I wanted to go to the Pride Lands, even if Imamu was in no fit state to talk to me; I wanted to visit the place where Crighton and I had both lost loved ones. I was in the process of lowering the newspaper, wanting to keep my opinions of the article until Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I were alone, when a deafening _crack_ echoed around the kitchen.

For the first time in three days, I had forgotten all about Kleaner. I turned and jumped to my feet as Kleaner disentangled herself from Mona and, curtseying low to me, croaked, "Kleaner has returned with the thief Mona Fetch, Mistress."

Mona scrambled up and pulled out her wand; Sian, however, was too quick for her.

 _"Expelliarmus!"_

Mona's wand soared into the air and Sian caught it. Wild-eyed, Mona dived for the stairs: Chris pointed his wand at the door, which closed instantly. Panicking, Mona turned and faced me, as her eyes darted all around the kitchen, looking for an escape.

"Mr Dawson and Meers both looked startled.

"Kiara, what on earth is going on?" asked Mr Dawson.

"Stick around and you'll find out," I said, as Mona went off on a ranting tirade.

"What?" she bellowed. "Wha've I done? Setting a bleedin' 'ouse-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha've I don, lemme outta here, lemme out, or - "

"You're not in much of a position to make threats here," I said. I crossed the kitchen in a few strides and stopped in front of Mona, who looked up at me, terrified. I pointed my wand deliberately at Mona's nose. Mona stank of stale sweat and tobacco smoke: her hair was matted and her robes stained.

"Kleaner apologises for the delay in bringing the thief, Mistress," croaked the elf. "Fetch knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices. Nevertheless, Kleaner cornered the thief in the end."

"You've done really well, Kleaner," I said, and the elf curtsied low.

"Right, we've got a few questions for you," I told Mona, who shouted at once: "I panicked, OK? I never wanted to come along, no offence, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an' that was bleedin' She-You-Know come flyin' at me, anyone woulda got outta there, I said all along I didn't wanna do it - "

"For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated," said Sian.

"Well, you're a bunch o' bleedin' 'eroes, then, aren't you, but I never pretended I was up for killing meself - "

"We're not interested on why you ran out on Crazy-Head," I said, moving my wand a little closer to Mona's baggy, bloodshot eyes. "We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum."

"Well then, why the 'ell am I being 'unted down by 'ouse-elves? Or is this about them goblets again? I ain't got none of 'em left, or you could 'ave 'em - "

"It's not about the goblets, either, although you're getting warmer," I said. "Shut up and listen."

It felt wonderful for me to have something to do, someone of whom I could demand some small portion of truth. My wand was now so close to the bridge of Mona's nose that Mona, who had been looking at Mr Dawson and Meers for help, who were in no hurry to help her out any time soon, and were watching the scene before them mildly amused, refocused her attention on my wand, going cross-eyed in an attempt to keep in in view.

"When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable," I began, but Mona interrupted me again.

"Pumbaa never cared about any of the junk - "

There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang and a shriek of agony: Kleaner had taken a run at Mona and hit her in the knees with a saucepan, sending Mona lying in a heap on the floor.

"Call 'er off, call 'er off, she should be locked up!" screamed Mona, cowering as Kleaner raised the heavy-bottomed pan again.

"Kleaner, no!" I shouted.

Kleaner's thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft.

"Perhaps one more, Mistress Kiara, for luck?"

Chris and Chrissie laughed.

"We need her conscious, Kleaner, but if she needs persuading you can do the honours," I said.

"Thank you very much, Mistres," said Kleaner with a curtsey, and she retreated a short distance, her great, pale eyes fixed upon Mona with loathing.

"When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find," I began again, "you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there." My mouth was suddenly dry: I could sense Chris, Sian and Chrissie's tension and excitement, too. "What did you do with it?"

"Why?" asked Mona. "Is it valuable?"

"You've still got it!" cried Sian.

"No, she hasn't," said Chrissie shrewdly. "She's wondering whether she should have asked more money for it."

"More?" said Mona. "That would have been effing difficult ... bleedin' gave it away, di'n' I? No choice."

"What do you mean?"

"I was selling in Brickabon Alley an 'e comes up to me an' asks if I've got a licence for trading in magical artefacts. Bleedin' snoop. He was gonna fine me, but took a fancy to the locket an' told me 'e'd take it and let me off that time an' to fink meself lucky."

"Who was this man?" I asked.

"I dunno, some Ministry bloke."

Mona considered for a moment, brow wrinkled.

"Little man. Small black fez on top of 'is 'ead."

She frowned and then added, "Looked like a toad."

I felt like all the breath had just been forced out of my body. I looked up at Chris, Sian and Chrissie, and saw my own shock reflected in their faces, even as the scars on the back of my right hand seemed to be tingling again.

Trying to regain my composure, I said, my voice quite off, "Kleaner, get this piece of scum out of my house at once."

"Certainly, Mistress," said Kleaner at once, and after taking Mona's wand from Sian, she took Mona's hand and, with the usual loud _crack_ , Disapparated.

"Kiara - " Sian began, worry conveying her tone.

"I know," I said. "I can't believe it, either. Of all the people to have their hands on the locket ..." I shook my head in disbelief.

"Now hold on a second, Kiara," said Mr Dawson. "Who is it that's got the locket?"

"Democritus Umber," I said, my voice low.

"Oh dear God, no!" Mr Dawson yelled, his hands shaking. "Now I know why you're worried, Kiara ... and you have every right to be, for getting the locket back from him will by no means be an easy task, for Democritus Umber has top-level security clearance, and the rounding up of Muggle-borns and Bright-brains alike - the Registration of the Muggle-Born and Bright-Brain Commission - was his idea. And he's Head of it."

I looked at Chris, Sian and Chrissie, who looked just as shocked as I did at this newfound information, but we knew what we had to do. I looked at my three best friends, and through their fear I also saw a fierce kind of determination settle over them at what we were going to have to do to get the locket back.

"We have no choice, then," I sighed resignedly, as Chris, Sian and Chrissie nodded their heads in understanding. "We'll have to do it."

"Do what?" said Mr Dawson, looking between Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I for an answer.

I looked Mr Dawson straight in the eye, took a deep breath, and said, "We have to break into the Ministry."


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: So, you might have noticed that the last chapter was slightly different to DH, and so will this chapter and the one following it, because I thought that Harry, Ron and Hermione might have had a lot more success if they had learnt more about what happens inside the Ministry than just focussing on how they were going to get into it - although how they were going to contact Arthur Weasley or someone else I don't know, but I think that's where they really went wrong. Anyway, enjoy this chapter.**

 **Chapter 14**

 **Magic is Might**

 **KIARA**

As August wore on, the unkempt grass in the woods outside Warts House shrivelled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. My three friends and I were never seen by anyone passing the house, seeing as only few people knew where to find it.

Yet we did get a few visitors standing just behind the clump of bushes several yards from Warts House's front door, watching and waiting for something to happen. They were never the same faces, mind, for some Order member or other would either confound them or else Stun them and wipe their memories before sending these "visitors" on their way, before coming to see us. It was normally Kara, Mr Dawson or Meers. Once, Mr Dawson brought my parents with him, and we had a rather pleasant evening together, before going back to the Manor, promising that they would give my love to Kion.

On the first day of September, the day before the plan would take place, there were more people lurking outside Warts House than ever before. Half a dozen women in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing as ever at the trees in front of them, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared to be elusive (to them). As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly wind for the first time in weeks, there occurred one of those inexplicable moments when they appeared to have seen something interesting. The woman with the twisted face pointed and her closest champion, a podgy, pallid woman, started forwards, but a moment later they had relaxed into their previous state of inactivity, looking frustrated and disappointed.

Meanwhile, inside Warts House, I had just entered the hall., I had nearly lost my balance as I Apparated on to the top step just outside the front door, and I thought that the Love Destroyers might have caught a glimpse of my momentarily exposed elbow. Shutting the front door carefully behind me I pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, draped it over my arm and hurried off along the gloomy hallway towards the door that led to the basement, Mr Dawson's copy of the _Daily Squabbler_ clutched in my hand.

The usual whisper of _"Tiana Triphorm?"_ greeted me, the chill wind swept through me and my tongue rolled up for a moment.

"I didn't kill you," I said, once it had unrolled, then I held my breath as the dusty jinx-figure exploded (Sian always hated leaving the house, not because she was scared to leave it, but because of the dust-figure, so she would always close her eyes when it rushed towards her. It helped, but it didn't help with her nightmares). I waited until I was halfway down the stairs to the kitchen, out of earshot of Mrs Warts and clear of the dust cloud before calling, "I've got news, and you won't like it."

The kitchen was almost unrecognisable. Every surface now shone: copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow, the wooden table top gleamed, the goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was shimmering. Nothing in the room, however, was more dramatically different than the house-elf who now came hurrying towards me, dressed in a snowy-white towel, her ear hair as clean and fluffy as cotton woo, Okoro's locket bouncing on her thin chest.

"Shoes off, if you please, Mistress Kiara, and hands washed before dinner," croaked Kleaner, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered.

"What happened?" Chrissie asked apprehensively. She, Chris and Sian had been poring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand-drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table, but now they watched me as I strode towards them and threw down the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment.

A large picture of a familiar, hook-nosed, strawberry-blonde haired woman stare up at us all, beneath a headline that read: _TIANA TRIPHORM CONFIRMED AS DRAGON MORT HEADMISTRESS_.

"No!" said Chris, Sian and Chrissie loudly.

Sian was quickest; she snatched up the newspaper and began to read the accompanying story out loud.

" _'Tiana Triphorm, long-standing Potions mistress at Dragon Mort Magical Academy, was today appointed Headmistress in the most important of several staffing changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Abaddon Capello will take over the post while his sister, Acanta, fills the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor._

 _"'"I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest wizarding traditions and values - '"_ like committing murder and cutting off people's ears, I suppose! Triphorm in Ma's study - Merlin's pants!" she shrieked, making Chris, Chrissie and I all jump. She leapt up from the table and hurtled from the room, shouting as she went, "I'll be back in a minute!"

"'Merlin's pants'?" repeated Chrissie, looking amused. "She's obviously upset, not that I blame her. Having Triphorm in the office our mother once resided is ... unthinkable." She then shook her head, pulled the newspaper towards her and perused the article about Triphorm.

"The other teachers won't stand for this," said Chris, scowling. "Darbus and Winds and Spud all know the truth, they know how Ma died. They won't accept Triphorm as Headmistress. And who are these Capellos?"

"Love Destroyers," I said. There are pictures of them inside. They were at the top of the Tower when Triphorm killed Crighton, so it's all friends together. And," I went on bitterly, drawing up a chair, "I can't see that the other teachers haven't got any choice but to stay. If the Ministry and Z - She-You-Know are behind Triphorm, it'll be a choice between staying and teaching, or a nice few years in Azkaban - and that's if they're lucky. I reckon they'll stay to try and protect the students."

Kleaner came bustling to the table with a large tureen in her hands, and ladled out soup into pristine bowls, whistling between her teeth as she did so.

"Thanks, Kleaner," I said, flipping over the _Squabbler_ so as not to have a look at Triphorm's face. "Well, at least we know exactly where Triphorm is now."

I began to spoon soup into my mouth. The quality of Kleaner's cooking had improved dramatically ever since she had been given Okoro's locket: today's tomato soup was as good as I had ever tasted.

"There are still a load of Love Destroyers watching the house," I told Chris and Chrissie as I ate, "more than usual. It's like they're hoping we'll march out carrying our school trunks and head off for the Dragon Mort Subs. Oh, and now I have to ask ..." I looked at the door to make sure Sian wasn't coming back, before I asked Chris and Chrissie, "how's Sian been today?"

Chrissie sighed and said, "On edge, I'm afraid. Every time I've looked at her, she always looks like she's about to jump out of her chair, run out the door and go after our siblings. She doesn't say that she's worried, but I can tell."

"We think that all the pent-up emotion that she's been saving inside herself for this day, worrying about the rest of us, is finally beginning to show," said Chris sadly. "Of course, she won't show us what she's feeling. She's too proud for that, but something about her does seem off today."

Chrissie nodded, then glanced at her watch.

"I've been thinking about the subs all day, actually. They left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on them, isn't it?"

In my mind's eye I seemed to see the eight aqua-blue subs travelling steady through the water. I was sure Kestrel, Nikita, Keziah and Lincoln were sitting together at this moment, perhaps wondering where Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I were, or else debating how best to undermine Triphorm's new regime.

"They nearly saw me coming back in, just now," I said. "I landed badly on the top step, and the Cloak slipped."

"Chrissie and I do that every time. Oh, here she is," Chris added, craning round in his seat to watch Sian re-entering the kitchen. "And what in the name of Merlin's most baggy Y-fronts was that about?"

"I remembered this," Sian panted.

She was carrying a large, framed picture, which he now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, turquoise beaded bag (to replace the one she had given Chrissie, and spending a lot of her first night here transferring everything from the silver spangled bag into the turquoise beaded one) from the kitchen dresser. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside, and despite the fact that it was patently too large to fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much else, into the bag's capacious depths.

"Philomena Naenia," Sian explained as she threw the bag on to the kitchen table with the usual sonorous, clanking crash.

"Sorry?" said Chrissie, voicing Chris' confusion, but I understood. The painted image of Philomena Naenia Warts was able to flit between her portrait in Warts House and the one that hung in the Headmistress' office at Dragon Mort: the circular tower-top room where Triphorm was no doubt sitting right now, in triumphant possession of Crighton's collection of delicate, silver magical instruments, the stone Pensieve, the Sorting Chest and, unless it had been moved elsewhere, the sword of Lion-Heart - not to mention, an important place for Sian, seeing as she had spent most of her school career with her mother in that room.

"Triphorm could send Philomena Naenia to look inside this house for her," Sian explained to Chris and Chrissie as she resumed her seat. "But let her try it now, all Philomena Naenia will be able to see is the inside of my handbag."

"Good thinking!" said Chrissie, looking impressed.

"Thank you," smiled Sian, pulling her soup towards her.

Chrissie gave an annoyed sigh.

"You know, I can't believe Dad's letting our siblings go back to Dragon Mort with Triphorm in charge of the place!"

"I know, sister, but he has no choice," said Sian sadly. "School is compulsory now, everyone knows that. Besides, if our father were to forcefully remove them from Dragon Mort, he'd be risking a lot more than his job; so he has to send them back, not only for his neck, but for the rest of our family's necks as well."

As Chrissie was left to ponder this, Sian turned to me and said, "So, Kiara, did you see our father today?"

"Yes, I did," I said. "He gave me his paper and the extra bit of lunch he didn't want, and told me that he'd be coming here later, after we've had dinner, possibly bringing Kara, to go over the plan once more."

Sian nodded her head, satisfied at this news. To truly understand this, my dear readers, I'm afraid I must go back a month, to when Mr Dawson and Meers were last at Warts House together.

After getting over their initial shock of learning that Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I would have to break into the Ministry to get the locket back, the two men, naturally, tried to talk us out of it, but Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I were adamant in our decision. We knew of the dangers, but this was important enough for us to risk exposure and capture for. Meers then asked whether the locket had anything to do with the mission that Crighton had given us, to which I answered yes; of course, we couldn't tell them what made the locket so important, but after that they agreed to help us.

Mr Dawson then started pacing the floor, thinking of four people we could be disguised as using a healthy dose of Polyjuice Potion: Chris would be Hayden Pavoni, someone who worked on Umber's level; Sian would be Mafalda Hopkirk, who was always at the hearings; Chrissie would be Regina Callaghan, someone from Magical Maintenance, whose family were clear of questioning; and finally, I was to become Adriana Rochester, another person who worked on Umber's level.

Mr Dawson showed us pictures of who we would be turning into: Mafalda Hopkirk was of average height, had blonde hair with silver streaks in it, brown eyes, wore spectacles and had a thin mouth; Hayden Pavoni was tall, broad shouldered, barrel-chested and dark skinned, with a long nose, dark, small eyes and thick dark hair; Regina Callaghan was small and had flyaway grey hair, large blue eyes, a short nose and a wide forehead; and Adriana Rochester was tall, taller than Pavoni, who had long black hair that was normally tied back, shrewd dark eyes, a beaky nose and a firm, thin narrowed mouth that made her look intimidating and imposing, not to mention it gave the impression that she always had a scowl on her face.

After that, Mr Dawson showed us an old abandoned cinema near to where the Ministry was, telling us to hide in it so that members of the Order could pass us maps, charts, copies of the _Prophet_ or the _Squabbler_ , or else pass us any information from inside the Ministry that they thought would be helpful to us, or else just telling us the latest goings-on that weren't reported in either of the papers. Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I took turns to leave the house, and once or twice I even saw Harry Potter, who would hand me his paper and a bite to eat, but if we didn't see any of the Order who worked in the Ministry, then Meers would come in their place.

We also had a few Order members round for dinner when they weren't too busy, but when they did we refrained from talking about our upcoming mission and all the deaths that kept occurring, choosing instead to focus on happier times when we all shared a laugh or two - even Sian; in fact, I remember one time Mr Dawson had brought Tanya and Geri round to see us, and they both made Sian laugh so hard that her recent swig of Butterbeer came squirting out of her nose, which made us all laugh even harder; even Sian managed to laugh at the situation, despite the fact that her cheeks were tinged pink. But whenever Mr Dawson came round, though, before he left, Sian would always ask him to tell the rest of her siblings that she loves them, misses them and is always thinking of them, and Mr Dawson always did, always telling Sian the next time he came round that her siblings sent Sian their love, that they miss her and are always thinking of her, too, and this always seemed to calm Sian down ever so slightly, relieved, I think, to know that the other Dawsons were thinking of their older sister, as she was them, just as my parents and I would send our love for each other through Mr Dawson.

As I was consumed in these thoughts, pain shot through the scar on my forehead. My hand jumped to it: I saw Sian's eyes narrow and I tried to pass off the movement by brushing the hair out of my eyes.

"He'll probably be bringing the hairs we need for the Polyjuice Potion," Chrissie was saying, "so that tomorrow, when Dad comes to collect us, we can get ready before we're on our way."

My scar was becoming more and more painful. I stood up. At once, Kleaner hurried forwards.

"Mistress has not yet finished her soup, would Mistress prefer the savoury stew, or else the apple crumble to which Mistress is so partial?"

"Thanks, Kleaner, but I'll be back in a minute - er - bathroom."

Aware that Sian was watching me suspiciously, I hurried up the stairs to the hall and then to the first landing, where I dashed into the bathroom and bolted the door again. Grunting with pain, I slumped over the wooden basin with its taps in the form of open-mouthed serpents and closed my eyes ...

She was gliding along a twilit street. The buildings on either side of her were oddly mismatched: some big, some small, and some were in the middle.

She approached one of the taller houses, then saw the whiteness of her own long-fingered hand against the door. She knocked. She felt a mounting excitement ...

The door opened: a laughing man stood there. His face fell as he looked into my face, humour gone, terror replacing it ...

"Hori?" said a high, cold voice.

He shook his head: he was trying to close the door. A white hand held it steady, preventing him shutting her out ...

"I want Hori."

 _"Yeye hana kuishi hapa tena!"_ he cried, shaking his head. "She no live here! She no live here! I know her not!"

Abandoning the attempt to close the door, he began to back down the dark hall, and she followed, gliding towards him, and her long-fingered hand had drawn her wand.

"Where is she?"

 _"Sijui!_ She move! I know not, I know not!"

She raised her wand. He screamed. Two young children came running into the hall. He tried to shield them with his arms. There was a flash of green light -

"Kiara! KIARA!"

I opened my eyes; I had sunk to the floor. Sian was pounding on the door again.

"Kiara, open up!"

I had shouted out, I knew it. I got up and unbolted the door; Sian then toppled inside at once, regained her balance and looked around suspiciously. Chris ran straight to me, cupping my face in his warm hands, checking to see if I was all right. Chrissie, however, was right behind Sian, looking unnerved as she pointed her wand into the corners of the chilly bathroom.

"What were you doing?" asked Sian sternly.

"What d'you think I was doing?" I asked, with feeble bravado.

"You were yelling your head off!" said Chrissie.

"Oh yeah ... I must've dozed off or - "

"Don't lie to us, Kiara!" said Chris, his expression and tone unnaturally stern. "We know you better than that."

"Chris is right, Kiara, so please don't insult our intelligence," said Sian, taking deep breaths. "We know your scar hurt downstairs, and you're white as a sheet."

I sat down on the edge of the bath.

"Fine. I've just seen Z - She-You-Know murdering a man. By now she's probably killed his whole family. And she didn't need to. It was Georgia all over again, they were just _there_ ..."

"Kiara, you aren't supposed to let this happen any more!" Sian cried, her voice echoing through the bathroom. "Ma wanted you to use Occlumency! She thought the connection was dangerous - Z - She-You-Know can _use_ it, Kiara! What good is it to watch her kill and torture, how can it help?"

"Because it means I know what she's doing," I said.

"So you're not even going to _try_ to shut her out?"

"Sian, I can't. You know I'm lousy at Occlumency, I never got the hang of it."

"You never really tried!" she said hotly. "I don't get it, Kiara - do you _like_ having this special connection or relationship or what - whatever - "

She faltered under the look I gave her as I stood up.

"Like it?" I said quietly. "Would _you_ like it?"

"I - no - I'm sorry, Kiara, I didn't mean - "

"I hate it, I hate the fact that she can get inside me, that I have to watch her when she's most dangerous. But I'm going to use it."

"Ma - "

"Forget your mother!" I cried, ignoring Sian's flinch at the harshness of my tone. "This is my choice, nobody else's! I want to know why she's after Hori."

"Who?"

"She's a foreign woodmaker," I said. "She made Kovu's wand and Kovu reckons she's brilliant."

"But according to you," said Chrissie, "She-You-Know's got Wandwick locked up somewhere. If she's already got a wandmaker, what does she need another one for?"

"Maybe she agrees with Kovu, maybe she thinks Hori is better ... or else she thinks Hori will be able to explain what my wand did when she was chasing me, because Wandwick didn't know."

I glanced into the cracked, dusty mirror and saw Chris, Sian and Chrissie exchanging sceptical looks behind my back.

"Kiara, you keep talking about what your wand did," said Sian, "but _you_ made it happen! Why are you so determined not to take responsibility for your own power?"

"Because I know it wasn't me! And so does Z - She-You-Know, Sian! We both know what really happened!"

We glared at each other: I knew that I had not convinced Sian and that she was marshalling counter-arguments, against both my theory on my wand and the fact that I was permitting myself to see into Zira's mind. To my relief, Chris intervened.

"Drop it," he advised her. "It's up to her. Don't get me wrong, sister, I disagree with her on this matter as much as you do, but it's Kiara's decision to make, not ours."

"Chris is right, Sian," said Chrissie wisely. "You're not in control of Kiara's life. You are not her mother."

Reluctantly, as Chris, Chrissie and I could tell, Sian let the matter rest, though I was quite sure she would attack again at the first opportunity. In the meantime, we heard a loud knock on the door, which could only mean that Mr Dawson was here.

Once we were with him in the kitchen, I noticed that Mr Dawson had a sack with him, and I wasn't the only one to notice.

"What's that for, Dad?" asked Chrissie, nodding to the sack.

"I'll get to that in a moment," said Mr Dawson. Then, looking at our half-eaten dishes, he added, "I thought you'd have finished eating by now. I'm surprised about that."

"Don't worry about it, Dad. Dinner was merely late tonight, that's all," said Sian. She then shot a quick glare at me before turning back to her father, smiling at him and continuing, "Are you sure you won't join us, Dad? I'm sure Kleaner wouldn't mind fixing up another bowl for you."

"You're all right, love," said Mr Dawson. "I'll have something when I get home."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," said Mr Dawson reassuringly. Then his expression grew more serious as he pulled up the sack and said, "Now, everything you four need for tomorrow is in here. Apart from the hair and the Polyjuice Potion, of course." He pulled out four pouches containing the hairs we needed, each with our initials on, and four vials of Polyjuice Potion from inside his robes and handed them to each of us, before drawing our attention back to the sack. "I've had robes made for you, identical to the ones your counterparts normally wear. Sian, there's a pair of spectacles in there for you to wear. Now, you know when these four normally arrive, don't you?" Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I all nodded. "Good. Well, I'm going to have to ask you four to wait five minutes so that Timon and I can sort things out for you. Nothing to worry about, I assure you. Anyway, once five minutes have passed, drink the Potion and come meet me outside the old abandoned cinema. I'll explain the rest tomorrow."

Mr Dawson then stood up. Sian looked at him, surprised.

"You're leaving already? But you just got here!"

"I know, love," Mr Dawson said, smiling apologetically, "but I've got a big house to get used to alone now. Well, not entirely alone, for Joey'll be there, but you know what I mean."

Sian nodded and said, "Can we at least fix you up something to take home?"

"No, you're all right, love. I'll be all right. Come here, you four." Mr Dawson then hugged each of us, kissing Sian, Chrissie and I, before saying, "Right, I shall see you four tomorrow. No need to follow me to the door, I can see myself out."

Things were quiet between Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I that night, and when it was finally time for bed, I went up gladly to Pumbaa's room, where I now slept, and I have to say that sleep did not come easily to me that night, and when I did sleep it wasn't for very long, for I was nervous about the next day, thinking that something was going to go wrong. Needless to say, I was glad when the sun's rays blinded me, for then I knew that it was a reasonable hour for me to get up, not feeling fully rested, but ready to do something more than just stare up at the ceiling for hours on end, doing nothing, merely thinking.

"You look terrible," was Chrissie's greeting, as I met up with her on the landing.

"Not for long," I said, yawning.

We found Chris and Sian downstairs in the kitchen. They were being served coffee and hot rolls by Kleaner. Chris was watching Sian anxiously, who was wearing the slightly manic expression that I associated with exam revision.

"Robes," she said under her breath, acknowledging our presence with a nervous nod and continuing to prod around in her beaded bag. "Polyjuice Potion ... Invisibility Cloak ... Music Mayhems ... you should each take a couple just in case ... I know Dad said there are going to be disguised Order members there to help us out if anything goes wrong, but you can never be too careful ..."

We gulped down our breakfast then set off upstairs, Kleaner curtseying us out and promising to have a steak and kidney pie ready for us when we returned.

"Bless her," said Chrissie fondly, "and when you think I used to fantasise about cutting off her head and sticking it on the wall.

We made our way to the door, stopping so that Sian could look out the window, pulling out her scanner to make sure there were no Love Destroyers waiting for us, invisible. Once she had made sure that the coast was clear, she, Chris, Chrissie and I headed outside and hid behind the clump of bushes, where we changed into our robes, added the hairs to our individual vials of Polyjuice Potion and draining it, before Sian took Chrissie's arm and Chris took mine, and we Disapparated, arriving outside the old abandoned cinema, where Mr Dawson stood waiting for us.

"Good, you four are here and ready," he said, looking us up and down approvingly. "Oh, and before I forget ..." He pulled out four gold tokens from a pocket of his robes and handed the to us, each inscribed M.O.M. "You need these to get inside the Ministry, so whatever you do don't drop them.

"Now, Timon has already been here to help me. We've already sent the real Pavoni, Hopkirk, Callaghan and Rochester home. We fed them false memories before sending them on their way, making them believe they called in sick, so there should be no worries about them wondering why they weren't here today."

"Nice one, Dad," said Chrissie.

"Yes, well, let's not be doing any victory dances just yet," said Mr Dawson, smiling slightly. "Now, let me fill each of you in on where each of you will be going.

"Now, the hearings for the Muggle-Born and Bright-Brain Registration Commission all are held down in Level Ten, the Wizengamot Chambers. All of us will be arriving in the Atrium, Level Eight. Sian, Mafalda normally checks in every morning with her department on Level Two, before collecting all she needs for the day's upcoming trials from her desk and heading down to Level Ten." Seeing the nervous look in her eyes, Mr Dawson smiled reassuringly at her and said, "Don't worry, love. Ginny'll be right behind you - disguised, of course - and she'll help you, never fear.

"Chrissie, you can stick with me. We should be able to get to my office without suspicion, but even so, we can't be too careful. If anyone looks suspiciously at us, I'll come up with some maintenance request for you, so just go with it and remember to call me Matt, not Dad."

"Right," said Chrissie, nodding.

"Kiara, Chris, you're a bit trickier," said Mr Dawson. "Rochester and Pavoni both work directly under Umber, who's up on Level One. Unfortunately, I can't go up there with you, it'll look suspicious; but don't worry, Kara will be keeping a sharp eye on things and she'll join you on the lift at Level Two on your way back down to the courtroom. From what I've heard, the first hearing is scheduled for ten this morning; Amelia Bloom is the first for questioning for being a Bright-brain - and that reminds me, Chrissie, you must remember this, for Edward, her husband, works in Magical Maintenance. They're quite friendly, but still, limited conversation is key. And above all else, you four - do not look like you are on familiar terms with each other or me; it would not do well for one of you to slip up and blow our cover once we're inside. Now, follow me, try not to stand too close to each other - that's it - and place your tokens into the slot on the door; this you must remember if you want to get into the Ministry."

Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I followed Mr Dawson out of the deserted alleyway into the jostling crowd, all heading in the same direction. Fifty yards along the crowded pavement, there were spiked black railings flanking two flights of steps, one labelled Gentlemen, the other, Ladies. Sian, Chrissie and I broke away from Mr Dawson and Chris and tottered off down the stairs to the Ladies, where a number of oddly dressed women were descending into what appeared to be an ordinary underground public toilet, tiled in grimy black and white.

"Morning, Gina!" called another witch in navy blue robes as she let herself into a cubicle by inserting her golden token into a slot in the door. "Of all the ways they could have got us to get to work, and they had to go with this one! I mean, are they really expecting Kiara Pride-Lander to show up?"

The witch roared with laughter at her own wit. Chrissie gave a forced chuckle.

"Well, if she's as mad as they say she is, then you never know," she said.

And she, Sian and I let ourselves into adjoining cubicles.

To my left and right came the sound of flushing. I crouched down and peered through the gap at the bottom of the cubicle, just in time to see a pair of high-heeled feet climbing into the toilet next door. I looked left, and saw Chrissie blinking at me.

"We have to flush ourselves in?" she whispered, looking disgusted at the thought.

"Looks that way," I whispered back; my voice came out low and hoarse.

We both stood up. Feeling exceptionally foolish, I clambered into the toilet, wrinkling my nose as I did so, trying not to imagine how bad it would smell if these were _actual_ toilets.

I knew at once that I had done the right thing; though I appeared to be standing in water, my shoes, feet and robes remained quite dry. I reached up, pulled the chain, and next moment I had zoomed down a short chute, emerging out of a fireplace into the Ministry of Magic.

I got up clumsily; there was a lot more of my body than I was accustomed to. The great Atrium seemed darker than I remembered it. Previously, a golden fountain had filled the centre of the hall, casting shimmering spots of light over the polished wooden floor and walls. Now a gigantic statue of black stone dominated the scene. It was rather frightening, this vast sculpture of a witch and wizard sitting on ornately carved thrones, looking down at the Ministry workers toppling out of the fireplaces below them. Engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words: MAGIC IS MIGHT.

I received a heavy blow on the back of my legs: another witch had just flown out of the fireplace behind me.

"Out of the way, can't y- oh, sorry, Rochester!"

Clearly frightened, the middle-aged witch hurried away. I remember from what Mr Dawson had told me that Rochester was both intimidating and unpopular.

Looking back at the statue, I saw that back of a blonde witch with silver streaks in her hair. I made my way over to her, and when I was close enough to see her, I saw that she was wide-eyed, staring at something that I could not see.

"Sian, are you OK?" I whispered.

Sian jumped at my voice, spun round and looked at me, startled. She then covered up her shock quickly, smiled, nodded vigorously and said, "Oh, yes, Kiara. I'm fine." But I saw her looking back at the statue warily. Before I could ask her what she had seen, however, Chris came up to us.

"Hey, are we going to - ?" He stopped quickly as he took in the statue. Sian, I saw, looked pale and glanced away from the statue. Wondering what they were scared about, I turned to face it myself.

Looking more closely at it, I realised that what I had thought were decoratively carved thrones were actually mounds of carved humans: hundreds and hundreds of naked bodies, men, women and children, all with rather stupid, ugly faces, twisted and pressed together to support the weight of the handsomely robed wizards.

"Muggles," whispered Sian. "In their rightful place. Come on, we have to keep moving."

We joined the stream of witches and wizards moving towards the golden gates at the end of the hall. We were looking around surreptitiously as possible, looking to find Umber, but of course, he wasn't there, just like Mr Dawson said. I saw him and Chrissie making their way through the crowd, talking together; Chrissie shot a nervous glance at me before turning back to her father.

Chris, Sian and I, meanwhile, passed through the gates and into a smaller hall, where queues were forming in front of twenty golden grilles housing as many lifts. Chris, Sian and I entered a lift on our own, which was fortunate. The grilles shut with a clang and the lift began to move upwards.

As the lift moved, I heard Sian heave a large sigh and say, "I hope Chrissie's OK."

"She'll be fine. She's with Dad, remember?" said Chris.

"That may be, Chris," said Sian, "but anything could happen. We can't expect everything to run smoothly just because we've put a lot of thought into everything. Besides, we all know what Chrissie's like ..."

We fell into an uneasy silence as the lift moved upwards, stopping at every level, where no one joined us except memos. It was only when the lift stopped outside Level Four that we were joined by a bushy-haired witch (who was not Hermione). Ignoring Chris and Sian, she turned too me, smiled and muttered, "Daphne Cauldwell, eh? From Fawn and Goblin Liaison Office? Nice one, Adriana. I'm pretty confident I'll get her job, now!"

"It's just my job I'm doing. Nasty business it can be at times, but still, my job," I told the stranger as the lift stopped.

A cool disembodied voice said, "Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Ministration Services."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Sian square her shoulders bravely as she left the lift. I watched her go, wishing I could go with her. But before I knew it -

"Level One, Minister for Magic and Support Staff."

The golden grilles slid apart again, and Chris and I were looking at four people, two of whom were deep in conversation: a long-haired witch wearing magnificent robes of black and gold and a squat, toad-like wizard wearing a small black fez in his short hair and clutching a clipboard to his chest.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 15**

 **The Muggle-Born and Bright-Brain Registration Commission**

 **KIARA**

"Ah, Adriana, Hayden," said Umber, looking at Chris and I. "Good morning."

"Morning, Democritus," said Chris and I together.

"Busy day ahead of you, Democritus?" I asked him, as Chris and I stepped out of the lift together.

"Quite busy, Adriana, quite busy indeed," said Umber, consulting his clipboard. "Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut ... even here, in the heart of the Ministry! Tell me, Adriana, has Mafalda gone down yet?"

"I'm not sure, Democritus," I said. "Hayden and I saw her get off at Level Two to check in, so she might be heading down to the courtrooms as we speak."

"Excellent, I'll head down there now, then." Umber then turned to the woman, whose long black hair was streaked with silver. She also had a great overhanging forehead shadowing her glinting eyes, putting an image of a crab looking out from beneath a rock in my mind, and I knew, from what Mr Dawson told me, that this was the new Minister for Magic, Prudence Thicko.

"Minister, I shall drop a report on your desk by the end of the day," Umber told her.

"Good," Thicko said, giving him a curt nod and marching off down a corridor. Once he was gone, Umber turned back to Chris and I.

"We'll be down in Courtroom Ten today, you two and - oh, I've left the Bloom file on my desk. Will you fetch it for me before joining me, Adriana?"

"Of course, Democritus."

"Good. And Hayden, keep an eye on the worker. I know I've got a good _eye_ on them as it is, but you can never have too many eyes watching, can you?" Umber asked, laughing his horrible, simpering laugh, as he and the two witches stepped into the lift. Chris and I laughed with him, stopping only once the lift was out of sight. I did not like the way Umber had said eye, and from the look on Chris' face, neither did he.

Chris and I then set off down the opposite corridor to which Thicko had marched down, passing gleaming wooden door after gleaming wooden door.

"So," Chris muttered, keeping an eye on the names of the doors as he spoke, just like I did, "do you have any idea of how you're going to search for the locket once you're in his office?"

"No," I muttered back, though there was no point for us to whisper; the corridor was quite deserted. "I'll think of something once I'm in there, though. Trust me."

Chris nodded, but looked uneasy as we continued down the corridor. It seemed unlikely to me that Umber would keep whatever jewellery he had in his office, but on the other hand it seemed foolish not to search it to make sure; and seeing as Umber asked me to pick the Bloom file off his desk, the opportunity seemed to good to pass out on. Chris and I passed no one but a frowning witch who was murmuring instructions to a quill that floated in front of her, scribbling on a trail of parchment.

We walked on, still paying close attention to the names on the doors, before we turned a corner. Halfway along the next corridor we emerged into a wide, open space where a dozen witches and wizards sat in rows at small desks not unlike school desks, though much more highly polished and free from graffiti. Chris and I paused to watch them, for the effect was quite mesmerising. They were all waving and twiddling their wands in unison, and squares of coloured paper were flying in every direction like little pink kites. After a few seconds, I realised that there was a pattern to the proceedings, that the papers all formed the same pattern, and after a few more seconds I realised that what I was watching was the creation of pamphlets, that the paper squares were pages, which when assembled, folded and magicked into place, fell into neat stacks beside each witch or wizard.

"Come on," I whispered, and Chris and I crept closer, although the workers were so intent on what they were doing that they paid no mind to either of us. Taking a closer look at one of the pamphlets, I saw that its pink cover was emblazoned with a gold title:

 _MUDBLOODS AND SACKBRAINS_

 _and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pure-Blood and Dim-Witted Society_

Beneath this title were two pictures: the first of a rose, with a simpering face in the middle of its petals, being strangled by a green weed with fangs and a scowl; the second was of a brain shining brightly which was being beaten continuously with a bat. There was no authors name upon the pamphlet, but again, the scars on the back of my right hand seemed to tingle as I examined it. I turned to Chris, who looked just as disgusted as I felt, but he hid it quickly, as the young witch beside us confirmed my suspicion as she said, still waving and twirling her wand, "Will the old toad be interrogating Mudbloods and Sackbrains all day, does anyone know?"

"Hey!" Chris yelled, making myself, the young witch and everyone around us jump and turn to face us. Chris bent his head and spoke so that everyone could hear him, "If you dare speak against Mr Umber like that again, I shall reporting you to him; so unless you don't want to spend the rest of your life _rotting_ in a spell in Azkaban, I highly suggest that you keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself. Understood?"

The young witch nodded her head shakily.

"Good," said Chris. Then, straightening up and seeing the others eyeing him nervously, he added loudly, "And that goes for the rest of you as well!"

Getting the message, the other members quickly resumed putting the pamphlets together. Seeing them engrossed in their work, I leaned into Chris and muttered under my breath, "Nicely done."

"Thanks. I took inspiration from Sian for that one."

I smiled at him, but out of the corner of my eye I saw the young witch glance quickly towards the shining mahogany door facing the space full of pamphlet-workers; I looked too, and rage reared in me like a snake. Where there might have been a peephole on a Muggle front door, a large, round eye with a bright blue eye had been set into the wood; an eye that was shockingly familiar to anybody who had known Aoife Grumpy.

For a split second I forgot where I was and what I was doing there: I even forgot that Chris was with me. I strode straight over to the door to examine the eye. It was not moving: it gazed blindly upwards, frozen. The plaque beneath it read:

 _Democritus Umber_

 _Senior Undersecretary to the Minister_

Below that, a slightly shinier new plaque read:

 _Head of the Muggle-Born and Bright-Brain Registration Commission_

I turned to Chris, who had followed me, and found that he was just as disgusted about Crazy-Head's eye as I was.

"But why is there only one here?" he muttered. "Where are the other three?"

"I don't know," I said, "but I'm going to take a look around in his office, anyway. Once I've got the file, we'll head down to the courtroom together. And I'll get the eye, too."

"Use geminio on the eye once you have it."

"What?"

"It's a spell used to duplicate objects. Sian told me," Chris whispered, shrugging.

"Right," I said, and as Chris turned to face the workers, I turned the doorknob, stepped into Umber's office and closed the door behind me.

I felt as though I had just stepped back in time. The room was exactly like Umber's office at Dragon Mort: cloths and model trains covered every surface. The walls bore the same ornamental plates, each featuring a highly covered, collared puppy, gambolling and frisking with sickening cuteness. Behind Crazy-Head's eye, a telescopic attachment enabled Umber to spy on the workers on the other side of the door. I took a look through it and saw that they were still working, with Chris marching up and down between the desks. I wrenched the telescope out of the door, leaving a hole behind, pulled the magical eyeball out of it, pulled out my wand, pointed it at the eye and muttered, _"Geminio."_ Instantly, the eye shook, and a second later an exact replica of the eye popped out of it. I pocketed the real eyeball, placed the fake one in the telescope and put it back in the door. Then I turned to face the room again, raised my wand and murmured, _"Accio locket."_

Nothing happened, but I had not expected it to; no doubt Umber knew all about protective charms and spells. I therefore hurried behind his desk and began pulling open the drawers. I saw quills and notebooks and Sellotape; enchanted paper-clips that coiled snake-like from the drawer and had to be beaten back; a drawer full of little black fezzes; but no sign of a locket.

There was a filing cabinet behind the desk: I set to searching it. Like Match's filing cabinets at Dragon Mort, it was full of folders, each labelled with a name. It was not until I reached the topmost drawers that I saw something to distract me from my search: Mr Dawson's file.

I pulled it out and opened it:

 _MATTHEW DAWSON_

 _Blood status: Pure-blood, but with unacceptable pro-Muggle leanings. Known member of the Order of the Centaur._

 _Family: Wife (deceased), eleven children, all of whom attend Dragon Mort. NB: Second-eldest daughter currently at home, seriously ill, Ministry inspectors have confirmed._

 _Security Status: TRACKED. All movements are being monitored. Strong likelihood Undesirable No. 1 and family will contact (has stayed with Dawson family previously)._

"Undesirable Number One," I muttered under my breath as I replaced Mr Dawson's folder and shut the drawer. I had an idea I knew who that was, and sure enough, as I straightened up and turned back to his desk, I saw something that I had missed before: a poster of myself, with the words UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 emblazoned across my chest. A little baby-blue note was stuck to it, with a picture of a dog in the corner. I moved across to read it and, pushing aside some files to read it properly, I saw that it read, _"To be punished."_

Angrier than ever, I searched the drawers of his desk for another baby-blue note, found one, pulled it out and wrote upon it, _You're the one who deserves to be punished, Democritus_. I then carefully peeled off the first note, stuck mine where the old note was, put the original note on top of mine and put the files back in place. I then proceeded to look for the locket, groping in the bottoms of vases, but I was not at all surprised that the locket was not there. I gave the office one last sweeping look, and my heart skipped a beat. Crighton was staring at me from a small, rectangular mirror, propped up on a bookcase beside the desk.

I crossed the room at a run and snatched it up, but I realised the moment I touched it that it was not a mirror at all. Crighton was smiling wistfully out of the front cover of a glossy book. I had not immediately noticed the curtly, green writing across her hat: _The Life and Lies of Susan Crighton_ , nor the slightly smaller writing across her chest: _by Peter Meter, bestselling author of_ Amanda Dipper: Mistress or Moron?

I opened the book at random and saw a full-page photograph of two teenage girls, both laughing immoderately with their arms around each other's shoulders. Crighton had elbow-length hair in this photograph, whereas the girl who sat roaring with laughter beside her, her golden curly hair tied back, had a gleeful, wild look about her. I wondered whether it was a young Dodge, but before I could check the caption, I heard Chris say loudly on the other side of the door, "What are you doing here, Minister?"

I just managed not to drop the book, before quickly replacing it on its shelf. I then headed to the door, before I remembered that I needed the Bloom file, so I headed back to the desk, rifled through the files, found the right one, marched purposefully to the door, wrenched it open and found myself face to face with Thicko again.

"What are you doing here, Rochester?" she asked me suspiciously.

"Democritus forgot the Bloom file and asked me to get it for him," I said, holding up the file. "Now, if you'll excuse me ..." And without another word, I hurried past Thicko, held up the file for Chris to see, and we headed back down the corridor together.

Once we were out of earshot of the other workers and had made sure we weren't being followed, Chris asked me, "So, did you find it? The locket?"

"No, I didn't," I said; Chris closed his eyes and groaned. "I know, which means we have to get down to the courtrooms before the Polyjuice Potion wears off. Come on."

We hurried to the lifts, and when one arrived, we found that it was empty. When it stopped on Level Two, Kara stepped in, just like Mr Dawson said. Once the lift had descended again, Kara spoke.

"Cutting it a little close, you two, aren't we?"

"Umber sent me to collect a file from his office, and asked Chris to keep an eye on the workers for him. Oh, and speaking of eyes, I found this," I said, pulling out one of Crazy-Head's eyes.

Kara took it from me sadly. "So they did find the body. But where are the other eyes?"

"I don't know. I searched Umber's office, but that was the only one I could find. I'm sorry," I added, but Kara shook her head.

"Don't apologise, Kiara. It's not your fauly."

I cast her a swift smile, which faded as she said, "When did you two take your Polyjuice Potion?"

"about forty-five minutes ago," said Chris, looking at his watch.

"We'll need to be quick, then," said Kara, pocketing the eye and pulling out a single Galleon and tapping it with her wand.

"What are you doing?"

"Sending a message to Matt, telling him to bring Chrissie down to the courtrooms as fast as he can," said Kara. A few seconds later she winced as the coin heated up, looked at it and said, "Good, they're on their way."

I nodded, and we fell into silence, until a troublesome thought hit me. Turning to Kara I asked her, "Kara, what exactly did this Rochester person do to Daphne Cauldwell? Mr Dawson didn't tell me."

Kara looked at me, shocked, before her face fell and she said, "Rochester tracked down the witch who faked Daphne's family tree. She's in Azkaban now."

I suddenly felt very uncomfortable being Rochester, and I secretly hoped that the Polyjuice Potion would start fading soon so I wouldn't have to be her for much longer, but I didn't have much time to dwell on these thoughts, for the lift had suddenly stopped outside the Department of Mysteries.

"Come on," I said to Chris, once the lift doors had opened, beckoning for him to follow me down the torchlit stone passageway quite different from the wood-panelled and carpeted corridors above. Looking back at the lifts, I saw Kara standing there beside them.

"Aren't you coming?" I asked her.

"I'll wait here for Matt and Chrissie. You two had better go on. You're wasting time as it is."

I nodded at her before setting off again, Chris right behind me, heading, not for the black door, but the doorway I remembered on the left-hand side, which opened on to the flight of stairs leading down to the court chambers, and as Chris and I descended the stairs, I noticed that it became colder with every step I took: a cold that reached right down into my throat and tore at my lungs. And then I felt that stealing sense of despair, of hopelessness, filling me, expanding inside me ...

 _Stingers_ , I thought, as Chris grabbed my arm. I looked at him and saw that he was pale and scared.

"What do we do?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet somehow impossibly loud in the still, chilly stairwell.

"We can't produce Patronuses just yet," I whispered back. "We'll have to fight back with our minds alone for now."

Chris' eyes widened with terror at the thought.

"But - "

"Chris," I said, cupping his face so that he was looking right at me, "I know you don't like it, I don't either, but the only way we're going to make it through there is by holding our heads up high and thinking of all the happier times we spent together last year; concentrate on that emotion and you'll be fine."

Chris nodded. I smiled at him, then took a deep breath for courage and moved on.

As Chris and I reached the foot of the stairs and turned to our right, we beheld a dreadful scene. The dark passage outside the courtrooms was packed with tall, black hooded figures, their faces completely hidden, their buzzing, droning wings the only sound in the place. The petrified Muggle-borns and Bright-brains brought in for questioning sat huddled and shivering on hard wooden benches. Most of them were hiding their faces in their hands, perhaps in an instinctive attempt to shield themselves from the Stingers' greedy mouths. Some were accompanied by families, others sat alone. the Stingers were gliding up and down in front of us, and the cold, and the hopelessness, and the despair of the place laid themselves upon my mind like a curse ...

 _Fight it_ , I told myself, resisting the urge to draw out my wand and conjure a Patronus. So I moved forwards as silently as I could, with Chris by my side, his hand brushing the back of mine as we walked, and every time I felt his skin barely touch mine, I felt warmth rush through me, and I focused on that warmth to fight the numbness that was trying to steal over my brain with every step I took, concentrating on Chris' love for me - on _our_ love, I should say.

It was hard to focus on that, though, because of the Stingers' large, unblinking blood-red eyes with cat-like black slits down the middle, watching Chris and I insistently as we walked through their towering black mass ...

And then, abruptly and shockingly amid the frozen silence, one of the dungeon doors on the left of the corridor was flung open and screams echoed out of it.

"No, no, I'm half-blood, I'm half-blood, I tell you! My mother was a witch, she _was_ , Adelaide Adder, she's a well-known broomstick designer, look her up, I tell you - get your hands off me, get your hands off - "

"This is your final warning," said Umber's soft voice, magically magnified so that it sounded clearly over the woman's desperate screams. "If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Stinger's Suck."

The woman's screams stopped, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor.

"Take her away," said Umber.

Two Stingers appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed hands clutching the upper arms of a witch who appeared to be fainting. They glided away down the corridor with her and the darkness they trailed behind them swallowed her from sight. Feeling sorry for the woman, but knowing I could do nothing about it, I entered the courtroom with Chris.

It was not the same room in which I had once been interrogated for improper use of magic. This one was much smaller, though the ceiling was quite as high; it gave the claustrophobic sense of being stuck at the bottom of a deep well.

There were more Stingers in here, casting their freezing aura over the place; they stood like faceless, one-eyed sentinels in the corners furthest from the high, raised platform. Here, behind a balustrade, sat Umber, with Yap, a well-known Love Destroyer on one side of him, and Sian, quite white-faced, on the other. At the foot of the platform a bright silver, long-haired dog prowled up and down, up and down, and I realised that it was there to protect the prosecutors from the despair that emanated from the Stingers: that was for the accused to feel, not the accusers.

"Oh, there you are, Adriana, Hayden. I was wondering where you two had got to," said Umber. "You have the file, yes?"

In answer to his question, I raised the file and waved it.

"Good," said Umber, as Chris and I joined him and I handed him the file.

"Sorry we're late," I said. "I had to make a detour to the loo."

"And I was so consumed with watching the workers, I lost track of the time - especially seeing as one of them was trying to badmouth you, but I soon set her straight," said Chris, his lips curling slightly.

"Thank you, Hayden," said Umber, apparently satisfied with our excuses. Chris and I then moved along the bench to where Sian was, as Umber turned to face the courtroom door.

"Next - Amelia Bloom," he called.

A small woman entered, her dark hair pulled into a bun, followed by a small, ferrety wizard, whom I assumed to be Mrs Bloom's husband, Edward.

"Sit down, Mrs Bloom," said Umber in his soft, silky voice.

Mrs Bloom stumbled to the single seat in the middle of the floor beneath the raised platform, Mr Bloom holding out an arm to support her. The moment she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the chair and bound her there.

"You are Amelia Francine Bloom?" asked Umber.

Mrs Bloom gave a single, shaky nod.

"Married to Edward Bloom of the Magical Maintenance Department?"

Mr Bloom touched his wife's shoulder. Gaining confidence, Mrs Bloom said, "Yes, that is correct."

"Mother to Milo, Freddie and Annabelle Bloom?"

At the mention of her children's names, Mrs Bloom burst into tears.

"They're frightened, they think I might not come home - "

"Spare us," spat Yap. "The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies."

Mrs Blooms sobs covered my voice as I whispered to Sian, "Umber has the Horcrux on him."

Sian gasped loudly, almost upsetting the bottle of ink with which she was supposed to be recording the interview, but both Umber and Yap were concentrating upon Mrs Bloom, and this went unnoticed.

"A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs Bloom," Umber was saying. "Eight and three-quarter inches, cherry, unicorn hair core. Do you recognise that description?"

Mrs Bloom nodded, mopping her eyes on her sleeve.

"Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took this wand?"

"T-took?" sobbed Mrs Bloom. "I didn't t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven years old. It-it-it _chose_ me."

She cried harder than ever.

Umber laughed a soft, boyish laugh that made me want to attack him. He leaned forwards over the barrier, the better to observe his victim, and something silver swing forwards too, and dangled over the void: the locket.

I knew that Chris and Sian had both seen it, for they gasped at the sight, but Umber and Yap, still intent upon their prey, were deaf to everything else.

"No," said Umber, "no, I don't think so, Mrs Bloom. Wands only choose witches and wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here - where is it? - ah, here we are! Parents professions: greengrocers."

Yap laughed jeeringly. Down below, the shaggy-haired dog patrolled up and down, and the Stingers stood waiting in the corners. Wanting to take my mind off this disgusting display for a moment, I turned to Umber and said, "That's an odd piece of jewellery for a man to wear, isn't it, Democritus?"

"What?" snapped Umber, glancing down. "Oh yes, an old family heirloom, which I wear with pride," he said, patting the locket lying on his large chest. "The 'S' stands for Savage ... I am related to the Savages ... indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related ... a pity," he continued, in a louder voice, "that the same cannot be said for you, Mrs Bloom."

Mrs Bloom sobbed harder than ever at Umber's words.

"Edward," she pleaded with her husband, "please. Please, do something!"

"Sir, have mercy, I beg of you," said Mr Bloom. "My wife is many things, but a liar is not one of them. Nor is she a liar. I met her at Dragon Mort and know what a fine witch she is - "

"Silence!" barked Umber. "I will not listen to such lies! And I believe we have heard everything we needed to hear, have we not, Yap?"

"Indeed we have, sir," said Yap. "I, for one, have heard enough of this rubbish."

"As have I!" I said, anger overwhelming any conscious thought I may have had, as I drew out my wand and pointed it straight at Umber.

"Adriana, what are you doing?" he asked, looking at me as though I had just grown another head.

"If there _is_ a liar in this room, Democritus, it's you," I snarled. "And one _really_ mustn't tell lies, must we?"

I saw Umber's eyes widen in recognition, and before he could do anything, I shouted, _"Stupefy!"_

There was a flash of red light; Umber crumpled and his forehead hit the edge of the balustrade: Mrs Bloom's papers toppled over the balustrade, cascading to the floor and, down below, the prowling silver dog vanished. Ice-cold air hit us like an oncoming wind: Yap raised her wand at me, but before she could say anything, Sian silently stunned her. Yap slid to the ground to lie on the floor.

"Kiara, why did you do that? What were you thinking?" Sian yelled.

"Sian, I would love to argue with you about this, I really would, but we don't have time right now," I said. "Just get the locket!"

Sian bent down and, using the same duplicating spell I had used on Crazy-Head's eye, made a copy of the locket before pocketing the real one, just as the courtroom door banged open and Mr Dawson, Kara and Chrissie barged in.

Rushing over to us and taking in the scene before him, Mr Dawson exclaimed, "Merlin's beard! What on earth happened here?"

Before I could start explaining to Mr Dawson what had happened, Mrs Bloom screamed. I turned towards the sound, and I knew immediately why; without the Patronus there to keep them at bay, the Stingers were moving out of their corners towards the woman tied to the chair. Mrs Bloom screamed again as a slimy, scabbed hand grasped her chin and forced her face back.

"Patronuses, now!" Kara yelled, as her lynx Patronus burst from the end of her wand. Knowing that she needed help, Mr Dawson and I raised our wands together, and his bear and my lioness helped Kara's lynx to send the Stingers back into the dark shadows again - probably because their light was more powerful, warmer and welcoming than the dog's had been.

Kara, Mr Dawson, Chris, Sian, and I ran down the steps and approached Mr and Mrs Bloom.

"You?" Mr Bloom whispered, looking at me, confused. "But - I don't understand - you were the one who - "

"Ed, I'll explain this to you later, but all you need to know right now is that this is not the Adriana Rochester you know, but you can trust her. Trust me on this one," said Mr Dawson reassuringly.

Mr Bloom looked like he wanted to say more, but just then Sian pointed her wand at his wife's shackles and said, _"Relashio!"_

The chains clinked and withdrew into the arms of the chair. Mrs Bloom rubbed her wrists as Mr Bloom helped her to stand.

"You're going to get out of here with us," I said. "Go home, grab your children and get out, get out of the country if you've got to. Disguise yourselves and run. You've seen how it is, you won't get anything like a fair hearing here."

"Kiara," said Chris, "how are we going to get out of here with all those Stingers outside the door?"

"Patronuses," I said, pointing my wand at my own: the lioness slowed and walked, still gleaming brightly, towards the door, followed by the lynx and the bear. "As many as we can muster."

Chris nodded, determined and ready. Sian, however, looked unsure.

"What is it, Sian?" I asked her.

"I don't think I can produce a Patronus right now, Kiara," she said sadly. "At least ... not right now."

I nodded in understanding as Chris said, "Stay behind me, then. I'll look after you, we all will. Don't worry."

"Thanks, Chris," said Sian, smiling gratefully at him. Chris smiled back at her before raising his wand and said, _"Expecto Patronum!"_

A silver lion burst from the end of Chris' wand and padded forwards to join the lioness, bear and lynx, along with Chrissie's Russel Terrier.

"C'mon," I said, and Kara, Mr Dawson, Chris and I led Sian, Chrissie and the Blooms to the door.

When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon, there were cries of shock from the people waiting outside. I looked around; the Stingers were falling back on both sides of us, melding into the darkness, scattering before the silver creatures.

"It's been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families," I told the waiting Muggle-borns and Bright-brains, all of whom were dazzled by the light of the Patronuses, and still cowering slightly. "Go abroad if you can. Just get away from the Ministry. That's the - er - new official position. Now, if you'll just follow the Patronuses, you'll be able to leave from the Atrium."

We managed to get up the stone steps without being intercepted, but as we approached the lifts I started to have misgivings. If we emerged into the Atrium with a silver lioness, a lion, a bear, a lynx and a dog beside it, and twenty or so people, half of them accused Muggle-borns and Bright-brains, I could not help feeling that we would attract unwanted attention. As if sensing what I was thinking, Kara reassured me.

"Don't worry, Kiara. As soon as Matt and Chrissie got here, I sent a message to all the disguised Auror members above, so getting everyone out shouldn't be that much of a problem."

"Thank you, Kara," I told her. Kara nodded, and before we could proceed to the lifts, we were stopped by Mr Dawson.

"Before we go any further, I just have to say that Kara and I will help Edward and Amelia escape."

"But, Dad - "

"Sian, listen to me," said Mr Dawson, cupping Sian's face, "I have to do this. You'll be fine. You have Chris, Kiara and Chrissie with you. You're not alone, Sian, you'll never be alone. And don't worry, when your brothers and sisters write to me, I'll let them know, in every single reply I send, that you love them, miss them and are always thinking of them. I know you may feel weak right now, love, but you're not. Be strong, be brave and be true, like always. Come here - "

Mr Dawson then hugged and kiss Sian, then Chrissie, then me, and just hugged Chris. Mrs Bloom then approached us cautiously, her eyes questioning, hesitant, as she looked right at me.

"Are you ... really Kiara Pride-Lander?" she whispered slowly.

I nodded, and she flung her arms around me.

"May God and Merlin truly bless you, my dear girl." Mrs Bloom then pulled me down so that she could kiss my forehead, and before any of us could say anything, footsteps were heard approaching us, and we all jumped into three lifts, just missing our pursuer, but not fast enough for Yap to catch a glimpse of us.

Once we had reached the Atrium, I beckoned the Muggle-borns and Bright-brains to follow me. I heard scurrying footsteps behind me as I surveyed the near-deserted Atrium, spotting a few disguised Order members - but there was one who was not disguised whom I recognised instantly: Harry Potter. As soon as he saw me, he dashed over to meet me.

"Matt told me you'd be Rochester today," he said, shaking my hand. "Did you get out of the courtrooms OK? Were you noticed at all?"

"Yap caught a glimpse of us as we got into the lifts," I told him hurriedly. "We have to hurry."

Harry nodded and said, "We';; take care of things here, don't worry. Good luck, Kiara."

"You too." I then turned to the Muggle-borns and Bright-brains, who were all gazing up at Harry in curious wonder. "Get to the fireplaces. Get going," I told them. The Muggle-borns and Bright-brains didn't need telling twice; they ran for the fireplaces, leaving in pairs. I then turned to Mr Dawson.

"Give my love to my parents and Kion for me. I hope we'll meet again soon."

"So do I, and I will," said Mr Dawson, kissing my forehead again, before whispering, "Take care of Sian for me." Then he let me go, leading the Blooms to one of the fireplaces -

A jet of green light flew past my left ear, hitting the stone over the archway. Turning to face the lifts, I saw that Yap had caught up with us. I grabbed Chris' arm and led he, Sian and Chrissie to the fireplaces with Yap in hot pursuit, shooting curses at us as we ran -

I jumped into a fireplace, still holding Chris' hand, as Yap's curse sailed over my head. We spun for a few seconds before shooting up out of a toilet into a cubicle. I flung open the door just as Sian and Chrissie emerged from the toilet next to us. We met together outside the cubicle doors, just as a noise in the cubicle behind us alerted us of another presence; I looked around; Yap had just appeared.

"LET'S GO!" I yelled. Still holding Chris' hand, I grabbed Sian's arm and, making sure Chrissie had hold of Chris' other arm, I turned on the spot.

Darkness engulfed us along with the sensation of compressing bands, but something was wrong ... Sian's arm seemed to be sliding out of my grip ...

I wondered whether I was going to suffocate, I could not breathe or see and the only solid things in the world were Chris' fingers and Sian's arm, which were slowly slipping away ...

And then I saw the door of Warts House, with its serpent doorknocker, but before I could draw breath there was a scream and a flash of purple light; Sian's hand was suddenly vice-like on my own, and I gripped Chris' hand tightly as everything went dark again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 16**

 **The Thief**

 **KIARA**

I opened my eyes and was dazzled by gold and green; I had no idea what had happened, I only knew that I was lying on what seemed to be leaves and twigs. Struggling to draw breath into lungs that felt flattened, I blinked and realised that the gaudy glare was sunlight streaming through a canopy of leaves far above me. I then felt a hand holding my own, and I remembered that I had been holding Chris' hand as we escaped from the Ministry's clutches. I glanced at him and saw that he was breathing hard, his eyes squeezed tight shut. I squeezed his fingers gently and he opened his eyes, blinked a few times and looked at me. We smiled at each other for a few moments, before I looked to my left and saw Sian's foot in my face, which meant that Chrissie was right next to Chris. Looking around, I saw that the four of us were lying on a forest floor, apparently alone.

My first thought was of the Black Forest, and for a moment, even though I knew how foolish and dangerous it would be for us to appear in the grounds of Dragon Mort, my heart leapt at the thought of sneaking through the trees to Mina's hut. However, in the few moments it took for Chrissie to give a low groan and for I to crawl around Chris to her, I realised that this was not the Black Forest: the trees looked younger, they were more widely spread and the ground looked clearer.

The moment my eyes fell upon Chrissie, all other concerns fled my mind, for blood drenched the whole of Chrissie's left side and her face stood out, greyish-white, against the leaf-strewn earth. The Polyjuice Potion was wearing off now: Chrissie was halfway between Callaghan and herself in appearance, her hair turning browner and browner as her face drained of the little colour it had left.

Not knowing what to do, I yelled, "Chris! Sian! Chrissie's hurt!"

That got their attention: Chris hauled himself over to Chrissie, but Sian was faster: she shoved Chris out of the way and knelt by Chrissie's head, stroking her hair and studying Chrissie. As soon as her eyes landed on Chrissie's arm, her eyes widened in horror and the blood drained from her face. With shaking hands, Sian touched Chrissie's arm gingerly, but snatched her hand back as Chrissie hissed with pain.

"What happened to her?" Chris asked, kneeling next to me.

"Splinched," said Sian, as her fingers clenched at Chrissie's sleeve, where the blood was wettest and darkest.

I watched, horrified, as she tore open Chrissie's shirt. I had always thought of Splinching as something comical, but this ... my insides crawled unpleasantly, and I felt Chris' hand hold mine tightly as Sian laid bare Chrissie's upper arm, where a great chunk of flesh was missing, scooped cleanly away as though by a knife.

"Kiara, quickly, in my bag, there's a small bottle labelled _Essence of Dittany_ \- "

"Bag - right - "

I sped to the place where Sian had landed, seized the tiny beaded bag and thrust my hand inside it. At once, object after object began presenting itself to my touch: I felt the leather spines of books, woolly sleeves of jumpers, heels of shoes -

 _"Quickly!"_

I grabbed my wand from the ground and pointed it into the depths of the magical bag.

 _"Accio dittany!"_

A small brown bottle zoomed out of the bag; I caught it and hastened back to Chris, Sian and Chrissie, whose eyes were now half-closed, strips of white eyeball were all that was visible between her lids.

"She's fainted," said Sian, no longer looking like Mafalda, though her hair was still grey in places. "Unstopped it for me, Kiara, my hands are shaking."

I wrenched the stopper off the little bottle; Sian took it and poured three drops of the potion on the bleeding wound. Greenish smoke billowed upwards and when it had cleared, I saw that the bleeding had stopped. The wound now looked several days old; new skin stretched over what had just been open flesh.

"Wow," I said.

"It's all I feel safe doing," said Sian shakily. "There are spells that would put her completely right, but I daren't try in case I do them wrong and cause more damage ... she's lost so much blood already ..."

"How did she get hurt? I mean," Chris shook his head, and I knew how he felt; I was trying to make sense of whatever had just take place, too, "why are we here? I thought we were going back to Warts House?"

"I thought that, too," I said. "What happened?"

Sian took a deep breath and looked at us both sadly.

"I don't think we'll be able to go back there, you two."

"What d'you - ?"

"As we Disapparated, Yap caught hold of me, and I couldn't get rid of her, she was too strong, and she was still holding on when we arrived at Warts House, and then - well, I think she must have seen the door, and thought we were stopping there, so she slackened her grip and I managed to shake her off and I brought us here instead!"

"But then, where is she?" I asked. Then a horrible thought hit me, "Hang on ... you don't mean she's at Warts House? She can't get in there?"

Looking as though it was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do, Sian slowly nodded her head.

"Kiara, I think she can. I - I forced her to let go with a Revulsion Jinx, but I'd already taken her inside the Fidelius Charm's protection. Since Ma died, we're Secret Keepers, so I've given her the secret, haven't I?"

There was no point pretending; I was sure she was right. It was a serious blow. If Yap could now get inside the house, there was no way that we could return. Even now, she could be bringing other Love Destroyers in there by Apparition. Gloomy and oppressive though the house was, it had been our one safe refuge: even now that Kleaner was so much happier and friendlier, a kind of home. With a twinge of regret that had nothing to do with food, I imagined the house-elf busying herself over the steak and kidney pie that Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I would never eat.

"Kiara, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Hey, hey, don't blame yourself," said Chris, moving over to Sian and putting an arm around her. "It's not your fault, Sian. You did what you had to do to keep us alive. We shouldn't have dawdled around by the lift's, though, _that's_ where we went wrong."

"Chris is right, Sian," I told her gently. "Oh, and I found one of Crazy-Head's eyes stuck to Umber's office door to spy on people. I have no idea where the other three are, but I duplicated the one I had, put the fake back in the telescope and handed the real one to Kara when I saw her."

Sian looked horrified by what I had just told her, but she was distracted by Chrissie, who groaned and opened her eyes. She was still grey and her face glistened with sweat.

"How d'you feel?" Sian whispered, stroking her sister's hair again.

"Lousy," croaked Chrissie, wincing as she felt her injured arm. "Where are we?"

"In the woods where they held the Quidditch Friendly," said Sian. "I wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover, and this was - "

" - the first place you thought of," I finished for her, glancing around at the apparently deserted glade. I could not help remembering what had happened the last time we had Apparated to the first place one of my friends had thought of; how Love Destroyers had found us within minutes - but then I remembered, one of us had said Zira's name, which put my mind at ease ... a little.

"D'you reckon we should move on?" Chris asked me, and I could tell, by the look on his face, that he was thinking the same.

"I dunno."

Chrissie still looked pale and clammy. She had made no attempt to sit up and it looked as though she was too weak to do so. The prospect of moving her was daunting.

"Let's stay here for now," I said.

Looking relieved, Sian sprang to her feet.

"Where are you going?" asked Chrissie.

"If we're staying, we should put some protective enchantments around the place, just in case," she replied, and raising her wand, she began to walk in a wide circle around Chris, Chrissie and I, murmuring incantations as she went. I saw little disturbances in the surrounding air: it was as if Sian had cast a heat haze upon our clearing.

" _Salvio hexia_ ... _Protego totalum_ ... _Repello Muggletum_ ... _Muffliato_ ... You could get out the tent, Kiara ..."

"Tent?"

"In the bag!"

"In the ... of course," I said.

I did not bother to grope around inside it this time, but used another Summoning Charm. The tent emerged in a lumpy mass of canvas, ropes and poles. I recognised it, partly because of the smell of cats, as the same tent in which we had slept on the night of the Qudditch Friendly.

"Isn't this one of Dad's old tents?" Chrissie asked, as Chris and I started to disentangle the tent pegs.

"Yeah, he said I could use it. He also gave me a spare, just in case we lose the first one," said Sian, now performing complicated figure of eight movements with her wand. _"Erecto!"_ she added, pointing her wand at the misshapen canvas, which in one fluid motion rose into the air and settled, fully constructed, on to the ground before me, as a tent peg soared out of my startled hands, to land with a final thud at the end of a guy rope.

 _"Cave inimicium,"_ Sian finished with a skyward flourish. "That's as much as I can do. At the very least, we should know they're coming, though I can't guarantee it will keep She-You-Know out for long. But it's something, at least." Sian sighed and said, "Come on, let's go inside. Oh, and Chris, can you carry Chrissie, please? But be sure to be gentle with her."

Chris nodded and put one arm under Chrissie's legs as she hoisted an arm around his shoulders and carried her inside, with me right behind them. The interior was exactly as I remembered it: a small flat, complete with bathroom and tiny kitchen. I shoved aside an old armchair to allow Chris to lower Chrissie carefully on to the lower berth of a bunk bed. Even this very short journey had turned Chrissie whiter still, and once Chris had settled her on the mattress, she closed her eyes again and did not speak for a while.

"I'll make some tea," said Sian breathlessly, pulling kettle and mugs from the depths of her bag and heading towards the kitchen.

I found the hot drink as welcome as the Firewhisky had been on the night that Crazy-Head had died; it seemed to burn away a little of the fear fluttering in my chest. After a minute or two, Chrissie broke the silence.

"What d'you reckon happened to the Blooms?"

"With any luck, they'll have got away," said Sian, clutching her mug for comfort. "As long as Mr Bloom had his wits about him, he'll have transported Mrs Bloom by Side-Along-Apparition and they'll be fleeing the country right now with their children. That's what Kiara told her to do. But why am I telling you that part? You were there!"

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," said Chrissie, leaning back on her pillows; Sian rolled her eyes and shook her head. The tea seemed to be doing her good; a little of her colour had returned. "I sure hope they made it. God, I hope so ... if they both end up in Azkaban because of us ..."

I looked over at Sian and the question I had been about to ask - about whether Mrs Bloom's lack of a wand would prevent her Apparating alongside her husband - died in my throat. Sian was kneeling beside Chrissie, stroking her hair like a doting mother taking care of her young. I looked at Chris, who looked uncomfortable, not that I could blame him.

"So, have you got it?" I asked, partly to remind her that Chris and I were still there.

"Got - got what?" she said, with a little start.

"What did we just go through all that for? The locket, Sian, keep up! Where's the locket?"

 _"You got it!"_ shouted Chrissie, raising herself a little higher on her pillows. "No one tells me anything! Blimey, you could have mentioned it!"

"Well, we were running for our lives from the Love Destroyers, weren't we?" said Sian. "Here."

And she pulled the locked out of the pocket of her robes and handed it to Chrissie.

It was as large as a chicken's egg. An ornate letter "S", inlaid with man small green stones, glinted dully in the diffused light shining through the tent's canvas roof.

"There isn't any chance someone's destroyed it since Kleaner had it?" asked Chrissie hopefully. "I mean, are we sure it's still a Horcrux?"

"I think so," said Sian, taking it back from her and looking at it closely. "There'd be some sign of damage if it had been magically destroyed."

She passed it to me. I held it in my hands, studying it carefully. The thing looked perfect, pristine. I remembered the mangled remains of the diary, and how the stone in the Horcrux-ring had been cracked open when Crighton destroyed it.

"I reckon Kleaner's right," I said. "We're going to have to work out how to open this thing before we can destroy it."

Sudden awareness of what I was holding, of what lived behind the little golden doors, hit me as I spoke. Even after all our efforts to find it, I felt a violent urge to fling the locket from me. Mastering myself again, I tired to prise the locket apart with my fingers, before I attempted the charm Chris had used to open Okoro's bedroom door. Neither worked. I handed the locket back to Chris, Sian and Chrissie, each of whom did their best, but were no more successful at opening it than I had been.

"Can you feel it, though?" Chrissie asked in a hushed voice, as she held it tight in her clenched fist.

"What d'you mean?"

Chrissie passed the Horcrux to me after a moment or two, and I thought I knew what Chrissie meant. Was it my own blood pulsing through my veins that I could feel, or was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny metal heart?"

"What're we going to do with it?" Chris asked.

"Keep it safe 'til we work out how to destroy it," I replied, and, little though I wanted to, I hung the chain around my own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath my robes, where it rested against my chest beside the pouch Mina had given me.

"I think we should take it in turns to keep watch outside the tent," I added to Sian. "We've got food, right?" I asked her.

"Yes, I made sure to grab some things from the kitchen cupboards before I left the Manor," she said. "I've also got some money in case we need to get some supplies."

"Good. No, Chrissie," I said hastily. "You stay where you are. You need to regain your strength." For Chrissie had attempted to sit up and turned a nasty shade of green in the process.

With the Sneakoscope Sian had given me for my birthday set carefully upon the table in the tent, Chris, Sian and I spent the rest of the day sharing the role of lookout. However, the Sneakoscope remained silent and still upon its point all day, and whether because of the protective enchantments and Muggle-Repelling Charms Sian had spread around us, or because people rarely ventured this way, our patch of the wood remained deserted apart from the occasional birds and squirrels. Evening brought no change; I lit my wand as I swapped places with Chris at ten o'clock, and I looked out on a deserted scene, noting the bats fluttering high above me across the single patch of starry sky visible from our protected clearing.

I felt hungry now, so it was with great relief when Sian approached me with some Muggle chocolate bars to eat, as anything else she brought with her would have gone off. I ate the chocolate bars with gusto, grateful for something to eat, even if it wasn't the most healthiest thing to have.

The surrounding silence was broken by odd rustlings and what sounded like the crackings of twigs: I thought that they were caused by animals rather than people, yet I kept my wand held tight at the ready, as my insides tingled with unease.

I had thought that I would feel elated if we managed to steal back the Horcrux, but somehow I did not; all I felt as I sat looking out at the darkness, of which my wand lit only a tiny part, was worrying about what would happen next. It was as though I had been hurtling towards this point for weeks, months, maybe even years, but now I had come to an abrupt halt, run out of road.

There were other Horcruxes out there somewhere, but I did not have the faintest idea where they could be. I did not even know what all of them were. Meanwhile, I was at a loss to know how to destroy the only one that we had found, the Horcrux that currently lay against the bare flesh of my chest. Curiously, it had not taken heat from my body, but lay so cold against my skin it might just have emerge from icy water. From time to time, I thought, or perhaps imagined, that I could feel the tiny heartbeat ticking irregularly alongside my own ...

Nameless forebodings crept up on me as I sat there in the dark: I tried to resist them, to push them away, yet they came at me relentlessly. _Neither can live while the other survives_. Chris, Sian and Chrissie, who were now talking softly behind me in the tent, could walk away if they wanted to: I could not. And it seemed to me as I sat there trying to master my own fear and exhaustion, that the Horcrux against my chest was ticking away the time I had left ... _Stupid idea_ , I told myself, _don't think that_...

My scar was starting to prickle again. I was afraid that I was making it happen by having these thoughts, so I tried to direct them into another channel. I thought of poor Kleaner, who had expected us home and had received Yap instead. Would the elf keep silent or would she tell the Love Destroyers everything she knew? I wanted to believe that Kleaner had changed towards me in the past month, that she would be loyal now, but who knew what would happen? What if the Love Destroyers tortured the elf? Sick images swarmed into my head and I tried to push these away too, for there was nothing I could do for Kleaner: Chris, Sian and I had already decided against trying to summon her; what if someone from the Ministry came too? We could not count on elfish Apparition being free from the same flow that had taken Yap to Warts House on the hem of Sian's sleeve.

My scar was burning now. I thought that there was so much we did not know. Meers had been right about magic we had never encountered or imagined. Why hadn't Crighton explained more? Had she thought that there would be time; that she would live for years, for centuries, perhaps, like her friend Nicola Fleming? If so, she had been wrong ... Triphorm had seen to that ... Triphorm, the sleeping snake, who had struck at the top of the Tower ...

And Crighton had fallen ... fallen ...

 _"Give it to me, Hori."_

Her voice was high, clear and cold: her wand held high in front of her by a long-fingered, white hand. The woman at whom I was pointing was suspended upside-down in mid-air, though there were no ropes holding her; she swung there, invisibly and eerily bound, her limbs wrapped about her, her terrified face, on a lever with hers, ruddy due to the blood that had rushed to her head. She had pure white hair to go with the face, so that she looked like a trussed up Mrs Clause.

"I have it not, I have it no more! It was, many years ago, stolen from me!"

"Do not lie to Lady Zira, Hori! She knows ... she always knows."

The hanging woman's pupils were wide, dilated with fear, and they seemed to swell, bigger and bigger until their blackness swallowed her whole -

And now she was hurrying along a dark corridor in thin little Hori's wake as she held a lantern aloft: Hori burst into the room at the end of the passage and her lantern illuminated what looked like a workshop; wood-shavings and gold gleamed in the swinging pool of light, and there on the window ledge sat perched, like a giant bird, a young woman with golden hair. In the split second that the lantern's light illuminated her, she saw the delight upon her beautiful face, then the intruder shot a Stunning Spell from her wand and jumped neatly backwards out of the window with a crow of laughter.

And she was hurtling back out of those wide, tunnel-like pupils and Hori's face was stricken with terror.

 _"Who was the thief, Hori?"_ said the high, cold voice.

 _"I do not know, I never knew, a young woman - no - please - PLEASE!"_

A scream that went on and on and then a burst of green light -

 _"Kiara!"_

I opened my eyes, panting, my forehead throbbing. I had passed out against the side of the tent; I had slid sideways down the canvas and was sprawled on the ground. I looked up at Sian, her hair tied back, which did nothing to obscure the starry patch of sky visible through the dark branches above us.

"Dream," I said, sitting up quickly and attempting to meet Sian's glower with a look of innocence. "Must've dozed off, sorry."

"I know it was your scar! I can tell by the look on your face! You were looking into Z- She-You-Know's mind!"

"I didn't mean it to happen!" I said. "It was a dream! Can _you_ control what you dream about, Sian?"

"If you had just learned to apply Occlumency - "

But I was not interested in being told off; I wanted to discuss what I had just seen.

"She's found Hori, Sian, and I think she's just killed her, but before she killed her she read Hori's mind and I saw - "

"I think I'd better take over the watch if you're so tired you're falling asleep," said Sian coldly.

"I can finish the watch!"

"No, you're obviously exhausted. Go and lie down."

She dropped down in the mouth of the tent, looking stubborn. Angry, but wishing to avoid a row, I ducked back inside.

Chrissie's still pale face was poking out from the lower bunk, and Chris was sat in a chair next to her, looking sternly at me. Knowing what he was going to say, I sighed and said, "Not you too, Chris. I'm getting enough of this from Sian as it is."

"It's because we care, Kiara, _that's_ why we're like this!" Chris snapped.

"Maybe a little too much," I muttered, annoyed.

"What, so you'd rather us not care at all? Is that it?" he retorted.

I said nothing, and Chris understood my answer by the swift nod he gave me. I then climbed into the top bunk, lay down and looked up at the dark canvas ceiling. After several moments, Chris spoke in a voice so low that it would not carry to Sian, huddled in the entrance.

"So ... seeing as we're on the subject ... what _is_ She-You-Know doing?"

I screwed up my eyes in the effort to remember every detail, before I whispered into the darkness.

"She's found Hori. She had her tied up, she was torturing her."

"How's Hori supposed to make her a new wand if she's tied up?" Chrissie asked.

"I dunno ... it's weird, isn't it?"

I closed my eyes, thinking of all that I had seen and heard. The more I recalled, the less sense it made ... Zira had said nothing about my wand, nothing about the twin cores, nothing about Hori making a new and more powerful wand to beat mine ...

"She wanted something from Hori," I said, with my eyes still tightly closed. "She asked her to hand it over, but Hori said it had been stolen from her ... and then ... then ..."

I remembered how I, as Zira, had seemed to hurtle through Hori's mind, into her memories ...

"She read Hori's mind, and I saw this young woman perched on a window sill, and she fired a curse at Hori and jumped out of sight. She stole it, she stole whatever She-You-Know's after. And I ... I think I've seen her somewhere ..."

I wished that I could have had another glimpse at the laughing girl's face. The theft had happened many years ago, according to Hori. But why did the young thief look so familiar to me?

The noises of the surrounding woods were muffled inside the tent; all I could hear were the sounds of Chris and Chrissie's breathing. After a while, Chris whispered, "Couldn't you see what the thief was holding, Kiara?"

"No ... it must've been something small."

"Kiara?"

The wooden slats of Chrissie's bunk creaked as she repositioned herself in bed.

"Kiara, you don't reckon She-You-Know's after something else to turn into a Horcrux?"

"I don't know," I said slowly. "Maybe. But wouldn't it be dangerous for her to make another one? Didn't Sian say she had pushed her soul to the limit already?"

"Yeah, but maybe she doesn't know that."

"Yeah ... maybe," I said.

I had been sure that Zira had been looking for a way round the problem of the twin cores, sure that Zira had sough a solution from the old wandmaker ... and yet she had killed her, apparently without asking a single question about wandlore.

What was Zira trying to find? Why, with the Ministry of Magic and the wizarding world at her feet, was she far away, intent on the pursuit of an object that Hori had once owned, and which had been stolen by the unknown thief?

I could still see the blonde-haired youth's face: it was merry, wild; there was a Tanya and Geri-ish air of triumphant trickery about her. She had soared from the window sill like a bird, and I had seen her before, but I could not think where ...

With Hori dead, it was the merry-faced thief who was in danger now, and it was on her that my thoughts dwelled, as Chris stood up and moved away from us, and as Chrissie's breathing became deep and even, I felt myself drifting slowly into sleep once more.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 17**

 **The Faun's Revenge**

 **KIARA**

The next morning, once the four of us had risen, Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I set about discussing what our next move was going to be; Chris, Sian and I felt that it was best not to stay anywhere too long, and Chrissie agreed, with the sole provision that our next move took us within reach of a bacon sandwich. Sian therefore removed the enchantments she had placed around the clearing, while Chris, Chrissie and I obliterated all the marks and impressions on the ground that might show we had camped there. Then we Disapparated to the outskirts of a small market town.

Once we had pitched the tent in the shelter of a small copse of trees, and surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments, I ventured out under the Invisibility Cloak to find sustenance. This, however, did not go as planned. I had barely entered the town when an unnatural chill, a descending mist, a droning buzzing noise and a sudden darkening of the skies made me freeze where I stood.

"But you can make a brilliant Patronus!" protested Chrissie, when I arrived back at the tent empty-handed, out of breath, and mouthing the single word "Stingers".

"I couldn't ... make one," I panted, clutching the stitch in my side. "Wouldn't ... come."

Their expressions of consternation and disappointment made me feel ashamed. It had been a nightmarish experience, seeing the Stingers gliding out of the mist in the distance and I realised, as the paralysing cold choked my lungs and a distant screaming filled my ears, that I was not going to be able to protect myself. It had taken all my will power to uproot myself from the spot and run as fast as I could as the Stingers pursued me; I could feel their eyes from me as I ran, until I got swept up in quite a large crowd of Muggles who might not be able to see them, but would assuredly feel the despair they cast wherever they went.

"So we still haven't got any food."

"Shut up, Chrissie," Sian snapped. "Kiara, what happened? Why do you think you couldn't make your Patronus? You managed perfectly yesterday!"

"I don't know."

I sat low in one of the old armchairs, feeling more humiliated by the moment. I was afraid that something had gone wrong inside of me. Yesterday seemed a long time ago: today I might as well have been thirteen years old again, the only one who collapsed on the Dragon Mort Subs.

I felt an arm being draped around my shoulders then; turning my head, I saw that Chris was knelt next to me, his eyes showing nothing but kindness and love.

"I know you feel disappointed, ashamed and humiliated, Kiara," he said, "but don't beat yourself up about not being able to make a Patronus. Yes, I know the situation called for one, and I know that you haven't not been able to produce one in a fair few years, but you had courage enough to get out of there. Your spirit is strong, Kiara. And don't worry, your Patronus will come easier next time, I know it will."

I smiled at Chris, grateful for his gentle encouragement, but unfortunately the moment was ruined by Chrissie, who had just kicked a chair leg.

"What?" she snarled at Sian. "I'm starving! All I've had since I bled half to death is a few chocolate bars!"

"You know, Chrissie, there are more important things to worry about right now than you and your stomach!" said Chris sternly.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Chrissie snapped.

"That if you're so desperate for food, then _you_ go and fight your way through the Stingers," I said, stung.

"I would, but my arm's in a sling, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"That's convenient."

"And what d'you mean by - ?"

"Of course!" cried Sian, clapping a hand to her forehead and startling Chris, Chrissie and I into silence. "Kiara, give me the locket! Come on," she said impatiently, clicking her fingers at me when I did not react, "the Horcrux, Kiara, you're still wearing it!"

She held out her hands and I lifted the silver chain over my head. The moment it parted contact with my skin I felt free and oddly light. I had not even realised that I was clammy, or that there was a heavy weight pressing over my stomach, until both sensations lifted. I began to shiver and Chris started rubbing my arms, trying to warm me up, and I relished in the comfort he was giving me.

"Better?" asked Sian.

"Yeah, loads better!"

"Kiara," she said, crouching down in front of me and using the kind of voice I associated with visiting the very sick, "you don't think you've been possessed, do you?"

"What? No!" I said defensively. "I remember everything we've done while I've been wearing it. I wouldn't know what I'd done if I'd been possessed, would I? Kestrel told me there were times when she couldn't remember anything."

"Hm," said Sian, looking down at the heavy locket. "Well, maybe we ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent."

"We are not leaving that Horcrux lying around," I said firmly. "If we lose it, if it gets stolen - "

"Oh, all right, all right," said Sian, and she placed it around her own neck and tucked it out of sight down the front of her shirt. "But we'll take it in turns wearing it, so nobody keeps it on too long."

"Great," said Chrissie irritably, "and now we've sorted that out, can we please get some food?"

"Fine, but we'll go somewhere else to find it," said Sian, with half a glance at me. "There's no point staying where we know Stingers are swooping around."

In the end we settled down for the night in a far-flung field belonging to a lonely farm, from which we had managed to obtain eggs and bread.

"It's not stealing, is it?" asked Sian in a troubled voice, as we devoured scrambled eggs on toast. "Not if I left some money under the chicken coop?"

Chrissie rolled her eyes and said, after swallowing a large mouthful of scrambled eggs, "Sian, you worry too much. Relax for once in your life!"

And, indeed, the four of us found it easier to relax when we were comfortable well fed: the argument about the Stingers was forgotten in laughter that night, even Sian managed a small laugh or two, and I felt cheerful, even hopeful, as I took the first of the four night watches.

This was our first encounter with the fact that a full stomach meant good spirits; an empty one, bickering and gloom, which was very rare in itself, for whenever there were days when all we had managed to scavenge was nothing more than berries or stale biscuits, she would go out without the Invisibility Cloak, saying that she had the necessary needs to disguise herself, and would venture off into crowded Muggle towns and cities, entering supermarkets or pound shops to pick up some meat, bread, cakes and whatever else caught her fancy for us. On the odd night when we were stuck with little to nothing to eat, however, we were all pretty snappy, but Chrissie was the one who suffered the worst, and whenever lack of food coincided with Chrissie's turn to wear the Horcrux, she became downright unpleasant.

"So where next?" was her constant refrain. She did not seem to have any ideas herself, but expected Chris, Sian and I to come up with plans while she sat and brooded over the low food supplies. Accordingly, Chris, Sian and I spent fruitless hours trying to decide where we might find the other Horcruxes, and how to destroy the one we had already got, our conversations becoming increasingly repetitive, as we had no new information.

As Crighton had told Sian and I that Zira had hidden the Horcruxes in places important to her, we kept reciting, in a sort of dreary litany, those locations we knew that Zira had lived or visited. The orphanage where she had been born and raised, Dragon Mort, where she had been educated, Borgin and Burkes, where she had worked after leaving school, then Albania, where she had spent her years of exile: these formed the basis of our speculations.

"Yeah, let's go to Albania. Shouldn't take more than an afternoon to search an entire country," said Chrissie sarcastically.

"There can't be anything there. She'd already made five of her Horcruxes before she went into exile, and Ma was certain the snake is the sixth," said Sian. "We know the snake's not in Albania, it's usually with Z- She-You-Know all the time, so I think we should tackle that one last, for every obvious reason you can think of."

"Well, I can't see her hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes," I said; I had made this point many times before, but I said it again just to add something to the conversation. "Borgin and Burke were the experts on Dark objects, they would've recognised a Horcrux straight away."

Chrissie yawned pointedly. Repressing a strong urge to throw something at her, I ploughed on, "I still reckon she might have hidden something at Dragon Mort."

Sian sighed.

"But Ma would have found it, Kiara!"

I repeated the argument I kept bringing out in favour of my theory.

"Crighton said in front of me that she never assumed she knew all of Dragon Mort's secrets. I'm telling you, if there was one place Z- She-You-Know would hide something, one place that was really important to her, it was Dragon Mort."

"Oh, come on," scoffed Chrissie. "Her _school_?"

"Yeah, her school! It was her first real home, the place that meant she was special, it meant everything to her, and even after she left - "

"This is She-You-Know we're talking about, right? Not you?" enquired Chrissie. She was tugging at the chain of the Horcrux around her neck: I was visited by a desire to seize it and throttle her.

"For once, Chrissie's right, Kiara," said Chris calmly. "All those things you just said point to you, too, you know."

"Wait a second, Ma told us that She-You-Know asked Ma to give her a job after she left," said Sian.

"That's right," I said.

"And Ma thought she only wanted to come back to try and find something, probably another founder's object, to make into another Horcrux?"

"Yeah," I said.

"But she didn't get the job, did she?" said Sian. "So she never got the chance to find a founder's object there and hide it in the school!"

"OK, then," I said, defeated. "Forget Dragon Mort."

Without any other leads, we travelled into London and, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, we searched for the orphanage in which Zira had been raised. Sian stole into a library and discovered from their records that the place had been demolished many years before. We visited its site and found a towerblock of offices.

"We could try digging in the foundations?" Sian suggested half-heartedly.

"She wouldn't have hidden a Horcrux here," I said. I had known it all along: the orphanage had been the place Zira had been determined to escape from; she would never have hidden a part of her soul there. Crighton had shown Sian and I that Zira sought grandeur or mystique in her hiding places; this dismal, grey part of London was as far removed as you could imagine from Dragon Mort, or the Ministry or a building like Fauntrotts, the wizarding bank, with its silver doors and wooden floors.

Even without any new ideas, we continued to move through the countryside, pitching the tent in a different place each night for security. Every morning we made sure that we had removed all clues to our presence, before setting off to find another lonely and secluded spot, travelling by Apparition to more woods, to the shadowy crevices of cliffs, to purple moors, gorse-covered mountainsides and, once, a sheltered and pebbly cove. Every twelve hours or so, we passed the Horcrux between us as though we were playing some kind of perverse, slow-motion game of pass the parcel, where we dreaded the music stopping because the reward was twelve hours of increased fear and anxiety.

My scar kept prickling. It happened most often, I noticed, when I was wearing the Horcrux. Sometimes I could not stop myself reacting to the pain.

"What? What did you see?" Chrissie demanded, whenever she noticed me wince.

"A face," I muttered, every time. "The same face. The thief who stole from Hori."

And Chrissie would turn away, making no effort to hid her disappointment. I knew that Chrissie was hoping to hear news of her family, or of the rest of the Order of the Centaur, but after all, I, Kiara, was not a television aerial; I could only see what Zira was thinking at the time, not tune in to whatever took my fancy. Apparently Zira was dwelling endlessly on the unknown youth with the gleeful face, whose name and whereabouts, I felt sure, Zira knew no better than I did. As my scar continued to burn and the merry, blonde-haired girl swam tantalizingly in my memory, I learned to suppress any sign of pain and discomfort, for the other three showed nothing but impatience at the mention of the thief. I could not entirely blame them, when we were so desperate for a lead on the Horcruxes.

As the days stretched into weeks, I began to suspect that Chris, Sian and Chrissie were having conversations without, and about, me. Several times they stopped talking abruptly when I entered the tent, and twice I came accidentally upon them, huddled a little distance away, their heads together and talking fast; both times they fell silent when they realised I was approaching them and they instantly hastened to appear busy collecting wood or water.

I could not help wondering whether they had only agreed to come on what now felt like a pointless and rambling journey because they thought I had some secret plan that they would learn in due course. Chrissie was making no effort to hide her bad mood, and I was starting to fear that Chris and Sian, too, were both disappointed by my poor leadership. In desperation I tried to think of further Horcrux locations, but the only one that continued to occur to me was Dragon Mort, but as the other three did not think this at all likely, I stopped suggesting it.

Autumn rolled over the countryside as we moved through it: we were now pitching the tent on the mulches of fallen leaves. Natural mists joined those cast by the Stingers; wind and rain added to our troubles. The fact that Sian was getting better at identifying edible fungi in order to save whatever money we had could not altogether compensate for our continuing isolation, the lack of other people's company, or our total ignorance of what was going on in the war against Zira. I would often catch Sian looking up at the sky every day with a look of saddened longing on her face, hugging herself for comfort, and it did not take a genius to work out what she was thinking of, because I was thinking of my family, too, and praying for their safety constantly. I had even started pulling the music box my grandmothers had given me for my birthday every night, letting the music relax me as I went off to sleep and hoping that there would be a future where my grandmothers, my parents, Kion and I would all live happily together, if Zira ever got defeated.

"You know, Sian," said Chrissie one night, as we sat in the tent on a riverbank in Wales (far away from my grandmothers' old cottage), "I bet our mother used to make good food appear out of thin air."

She prodded moodily at the lumps of charred, grey fish on her plate. I glanced automatically at Chrissie's neck and saw, as I had expected, the silver chain of the Horcrux glinting there. I managed to fight down the impulse to swear at Chrissie, whose attitude would, I knew, improve slightly when the time came for her to take off the locket.

"Our mother couldn't produce food out of thin air even if she wanted to, Chrissie," said Sian. "No one can, for that matter. Food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfigur- "

"Would it kill you to speak English for once?" Chrissie said, prising a fishbone out from between her teeth.

"It's impossible to make good food out of nothing! You can summon it if you know where it is, you can transform it, you can increase the quantity if you've already got some - "

" - well, don't bother increasing this, it's disgusting," said Chrissie.

"Kiara caught the fish and Chris and I did our best with it! I've noticed, just like at home, that I have to do everything for you; because I'm the _oldest_ , I suppose?"

"No, it's because you're supposed to be the best at magic!" shot back Chrissie.

Sian jumped up and bits of roast pike slid off her tin plate on to the floor.

" _You_ can do the cooking tomorrow, Chrissie, _you_ can find the ingredients and try and charm them into something worth eating, and Chris and I will sit here and pull faces and moan and you can see how you - "

"Shut up!" I said, leaping to my feet and holding up both hands. "Shut up _now_!"

Sian looked outraged.

"How can you side with my sister, who treats me like a servant, when there's a big difference between the two! Besides, she hardly ever does the cook- "

"Sian, be quiet, I can hear someone!"

I was listening hard, my hands still raised, warning them not to talk. Then, over the rush and gush of the dark river beside us, I heard voices again. I looked round at the Sneakoscope. It was not moving.

"You cast the _Muffliato_ Charm over us, right?" I whispered to Sian.

"I did everything," she whispered back. " _Muffliato_ , Muggle-Repelling and Disillusionment Charms, all of it. They shouldn't be able to hear or see us, whoever they are."

Heavy scuffling and scraping noises, plus the sound of dislodged stones and twigs, told us that several people were clambering down the steep, wooded slope that descended to the narrow bank where we had pitched the tent. We drew our wands, waiting. The enchantments we had cast around ourselves ought to be sufficient, in the near total darkness, to shield us from the notice of Muggles and normal witches and wizards. If these were Love Destroyers, then perhaps our defences were about to be tested by Dark Magic for the first time.

The voices became louder but no more intelligible as the group of four women and a man reached the bank. I estimated that their owners were less than twenty feet away, but the cascading of the river made it impossible to tell for sure. Sian snatched up the beaded bag and started to rummage; after a moment she drew out four hearing aids and a box. She then passed an Electronic Ear each to Chris, Chrissie and I, and the three of us hastily put them in our ears, as Sian did with hers, before switching the box on and placing it to the entrance of the tent.

Within seconds I heard a weary, female voice.

"There ought to be a few salmon in here, or d'you reckon it's too early in the season? _Accio salmon!_ "

There were several distinct splashes and then the slapping sounds of fish against flesh. Somebody grunted appreciatively. I turned the side of my head that had the Electronic Ear in towards the tent's entrance: over the murmur of the river I could make out more voices, but they were not speaking English or any other human language I had ever heard. It was a rough and unmelodious tongue, a string of rattling, guttural noises, and there seemed to be two speakers, one with a slightly higher, slower voice than the other.

A fire danced into life on the other side of the canvas; large shadows passed between tent and flames. The delicious smell of baking salmon wafted tantalisingly in our direction. Then came the clinking of cutlery on plates, and the first woman spoke again.

"Here, Grimzhan, Gorzon."

 _Fauns!_ Sian mouthed at me, and I nodded at her in understanding.

"Thank you," said the fauns together in English.

"So, you three have been on the run, how long?" asked a new, mellow and pleasant voice; it was vaguely familiar to me, and a picture immediately formed in my mind of a round-bellied, cheerful-faced man to accompany the voice.

"Six weeks ... seven ... I forget," said the tired woman. "Met up with Grimzhan in the first couple of days and joined forces with Gorzon not long after. Nice to have a bit of company." There was a pause, while knives scraped plates and tiny mugs were picked up and replaced on the ground. "What made you leave, Tim?" continued the woman.

"Knew they were coming for me," replied mellow-voiced Tim, and I suddenly knew who he was: Todd's father. "Heard Love Destroyers were in the area last week and decided I'd better run for it. Refused to register as a Muggle-born on principle, see, so I knew it was a matter of time, knew I'd have to leave in the end. My wife should be OK, she's pure-blood. And then I met Dena here, what, a few days ago, love?"

"Yeah," said another voice, and Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I stared at each other, silent but beside ourselves with excitement, sure we recognised the voice of Dena Wright, our fellow Lion-Heart. But for me, that excitement was intertwined with wariness, and I decided to pay attention to Chris' reactions, for even though I knew that he loved me, that did not change the fact that Dena used to be his girlfriend.

"Muggle-born, eh?" asked the first woman.

"Not sure," said Dena. "My mum left my dad when I was a kid. I've got no proof she was a witch, though."

There was silence for a while, except for the sound of munching, then Tim spoke again.

"I've got to say, Daphne, I'm surprised to run into you. Pleased, but surprised. Word was you'd been caught."

"I was," said Daphne. "I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it, Stunned Dalca and nicked her broom. It was easier than you'd think; I don't reckon she's quite right at the moment. Might be Confunded. If so, I'd like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it, probably saved my life."

There was another pause, in which the fire crackled and the river rushed on. Then Tim asked, "And where do you two fit in? I, er, had the impression the fauns were for She-You-Know, on the whole."

"You had a false impression," said the lower-voiced of the fauns. "We take no sides. This is a wizards' war."

"How come you're in hiding, then?"

"I deemed it prudent," said the higher-voiced faun. "Having refused what I considered an impertinent request, I could see that my personal safety was in jeopardy."

"What did they ask you to do?" asked Tim.

"Duties ill-befitting the dignity of my race," said the faun, her voice rougher and less human as she said it. "I am not a house-elf."

"What about you, Grimzhan?"

"Similar reasons," said the lower-voiced faun. "Fauntrotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognise no wizarding master."

She added something under her breath in Gobbledegook and Gorzon laughed.

"What's the joke?" asked Dena,

"She said," replied Daphne, "that there are things wizards don't recognise, either."

There was a short pause.

"I don't get it," said Dena.

"I had my small revenge before I left," said Grimzhan in English.

"Good girl - faun, I should say," amended Tim hastily. "Didn't manage to lock a Love Destroyer up in one of the old high-security vaults, I suppose?"

"If I had, the sword would not have helped her break out," replied Grimzhan. Gorzon laughed again and even Daphne gave a dry chuckle.

"Dena and I are still missing something here," said Tim.

"So is Tiana Triphorm, though she does not know it," said Grimzhan, and the two fauns roared with malicious laughter.

Inside the tent, my breathing was shallow with excitement: Chris, Sian and I stared at each other, listening as hard as we could.

"Didn't you hear about that, Tim?" asked Daphne. "About the kids who tried to steal Lion-Heart's sword out of Triphorm's office at Dragon Mort?"

An electric current seemed to course through me at those words, jangling every nerve in my body as I stood rooted to the spot.

"Never heard a word," said Tim. "Not in the _Squabbler_ , was it?"

"Hardly," chortled Daphne. "Grimzhan here told me, she heard about it from Sam DEsjardin who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Sam's cousin - one of the youngest Dawson girls, I believe."

I glanced at Chris, Sian and Chrissie, all three of whom were grasping each other's hands tightly for comfort and support.

"She and a few friends got into Triphorm's office and smashed open the glass case where she was apparently keeping the sword. Triphorm caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase."

"Ah, God bless 'em," said Tim. "What did they think, that they'd be able to use the sword on She-You-Know? Or on Triphorm herself?"

"Well, whatever they thought they were going to do with it, Triphorm decided the sword wasn't safe where it was," said Daphne. "Couple of days later, once she'd got the say so from She-You-Know, I imagine, she sent it down to Southport to be kept in Fauntrotts instead."

The fauns started to laugh again.

"I'm still not seeing the joke," said Tim.

"It's a fake," rasped Grimzhan.

"The sword of Lion-Heart!"

"Oh, yes. It is a copy - an excellent copy. It is true - but it was wizard-made. The original was forged centuries ago by fauns and had certain properties only faun-made armour possesses. Wherever the genuine sword of Lion-Heart is, it is not in a vault at Fauntrotts bank."

"I see," said Tim. "And I take it you didn't bother telling the Love Destroyers this?"

"I saw no reason to trouble them with the information," said Grimzhan simply, and now Tim and Dena joined in Gorzon and Daphne's laughter.

Inside the tent, I closed my eyes, willing someone to ask the question I needed answered, and after a minute that seemed ten, Dena obliged.

"What happened to Kestrel and the others? The ones who tried to steal it?"

"Oh, they were punished, and cruelly," said Grimzhan indifferently.

"They were OK, though?" said Tim quickly. "I mean, the Dawsons don't need any more losses, do they?"

"They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware," said Grimzhan.

"Lucky for them," said Tim. "With Triphorm's track record, I suppose we should just be glad they're still alive."

"You believe the story, then, do you, Tim?" asked Daphne. "You believe Triphorm killed Crighton?"

"'Course I do," said Tim. "You're not going to sit there and tell me you think Pride-Lander had anything to do with it?"

"Hard to know what to believe these days," muttered Daphne.

"I know Kiara Pride-Lander," said Dena. "And I reckon she's the real thing - the Chosen One, or whatever you want to call it."

"Yeah, there's a lot who would like to believe she's that, love," said Daphne, "me included. But where is she? Run for it, by the looks of things. You'd think, if she knew anything we don't, or had anything special going for her, she'd be out there now fighting, rallying resistance, instead of hiding. And you know, the _Squabbler_ made a pretty good case against her - "

"The _Squabbler_?" scoffed Tim. "You deserve to be lied to if you're still reading that muck, Daphne. You want the facts, try _The Mystics_."

There was a sudden explosion of choking and retching, plus a good deal of thumping; by the sound of it, Daphne had swallowed a fishbone. At last she spluttered, " _The Mystics_? That lunatic rag of Xion Lovedream's?"

"It's not so lunatic these days," said Tim. "You want to give it a look. Xion is printing all the stuff the _Squabbler_ and the _Prophet_ 's ignoring, not a single mention of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the last issue. How long they'll let her get away with it, mind, I don't know. But Xion says, front page of every issue, that any wizard who's against She-You-Know ought to make helping Kiara Pride-Lander their number one priority."

"Hard to help a girl who's vanished off the face of the earth," said Daphne.

"Listen, the fact that they haven't caught her yet's one hell of an achievement," said Tim. "I'd take tips from her gladly. It's what we're trying to do, stay safe, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well, you've got a point there," said Daphne heavily. "With the whole of the Ministry and all their informers looking for her and her family, I'd have expected her to be caught by now. Mind, who's to say they haven't already caught and killed her without publicising it?"

"Ah, don't say that, Daphne," murmured Tim.

There was a long pause filled with more clattering of knives and forks. When they spoke again, it was to discuss whether they ought to sleep on the bank or retreat back up to the wooded slope. Deciding the trees would give better cover, they extinguished their fire, then clambered back up the incline, their voices fading away.

Sian flicked off the switch as she, Chris, Chrissie and I took out our Electronic Ears. The longer we eavesdropped, the longer I fought to remain silent, and now I could speak again, I found I could say no more than, "Kestrel - the sword - "

"I know!" said Sian.

She lunged for the tiny beaded bag, this time sinking her arm in it right up to the armpit.

"Here ... we ... are ..." she said between gritted teeth, and she pulled at something that was evidently in the depths of the bag. Slowly, the edge of an ornate picture frame came into sight. I hurried to help her. As we lifted the empty portrait of Philomena Naenia from Sian's bag, she kept her wand pointed at it, ready to cast a spell at any moment.

"If somebody swapped the real sword for the fake while it was in Ma's office," she panted, as we propped the painting against the side of the tent, "Philomena Naenia would have seen it happen, she hangs right beside the case!"

"Unless she was asleep," I said, but I still held my breath as Sian knelt down in front of the empty canvas, her wand directed at its centre, cleared her throat, then said, "Er - Philomena? Philomena Naenia?"

Nothing happened.

"Philomena Naenia?" said Sian again. "Professor Warts? Please could we talk to you? Please?"

"'Please' always helps," said a cold, snide voice, and Philomena Naenia slid into her portrait. At once, Sian cried, _"Obscuro!"_

A black blindfold appeared over Philomena Naenia's clever, dark eyes, causing her to bump into the frame and shriek with pain.

"What - how dare - what are you - ?"

"I'm very sorry, Professor Warts," said Sian, "but it's a necessary precaution!"

"Remove this foul addition at once! Remove it, I say! You are ruining a great work of art! Where am I? What is going on?"

"Never mind where we are," I said, and Philomena Naenia froze, abandoning her attempts to peel off the painted blindfold.

"Can that possibly be the elusive voice of Miss Pride-Lander?"

"Maybe," I said, knowing that this would keep Philomena Naenia interested. "We've got a couple of questions to ask you - about the sword of Lion-Heart."

"Ah," said Philomena Naenia, now turning her head this way and that in an effort to catch sight of me, "yes. That silly girl of Crighton's acted most unwisely there - "

"How dare you talk about our sister like that!" said Chris roughly. Philomena Naenia raised supercilious eyebrows.

"Who else is here?" she asked, turning her head from side to side. "Your tone displeases me! The girl and her friends were foolishly in the extreme. Thieving from the Headmistress!"

"They weren't thieving," I said. "That sword isn't Triphorm's."

"It belongs to Professor Triphorm's school," said Philomena Naenia. "Exactly what claim did the Dawson girl have upon it? She deserved her punishment, as did the idiot Bore, the fool Rea-Bradley and the Lovedream oddity!"

"Nikita is not an idiot, Keziah is not a fool and Lincoln is not an oddity!" said Sian.

"Where am I?" repeated Philomena Naenia, starting to wrestle with the blindfold again. "Where have you brought me? Why have you removed me from the house of my forebears?"

"Never mind that! How did Triphorm punish Kestrel, Nikita, Keziah and Lincoln?" I asked urgently.

" _Professor_ Triphorm sent them into the Black Forest, to do some work for the oaf, Mina."

"Mina's not an oaf!" said Sian shrilly.

"And Triphorm might've thought that was a punishment," I said, "but Kestel, Nikita, Keziah and Lincoln probably had a good laugh with Mina. The Black Forest ... they've faced plenty worse than the Black Forest, big deal!"

I felt relieved; I had been imagining horrors, the Cruciatus Curse at the very least, and judging by the look on Sian's face, I knew that she was thinking the same.

"What we really wanted to know, Professor Warts, is whether anyone else has taken the sword out at all?" said Sian. "I know that it couldn't have been taken away for cleaning, for faun-made armour is a lot like goblin-made armour, isn't it? That is to say, they both repel mundane dirt, imbibing only that which strengthens it, so - "

"I grow weary of this," said Philomena Naenia. "Perhaps it is time for me to return to the Headmistress' office?"

Still blindfolded, she began groping the side of her frame, trying to feel her way out of the picture and back into the one at Dragon Mort. I had a sudden inspiration.

"Crighton! Can't you bring us Crighton?"

"I beg your pardon?" asked Philomena Naenia.

"Professor Crighton's portrait - couldn't you bring her along, here into yours?"

Philomena Naenia turned her face in the direction of my voice.

"You are ignorant as always, Pride-Lander. The portraits of Dragon Mort may commune with each other, but they cannot travel outside the castle except to visit a painting of themselves hanging elsewhere. Crighton cannot come here with me, and after the treatment I have received at your hands, I can assure you that I shall not be making a return visit!"

Slightly crestfallen, I watched Philomena redouble her attempts to leave her frame.

"Professor Warts," said Sian desperately, "couldn't you just tell us, _please_ , when was the last time the sword was taken out of its case? Before Kestrel took it out, I mean?"

Philomena snorted impatiently.

"I believe that the last time I saw the sword of Lion-Heart leave its case was when Professor Crighton used it to break open a ring."

Chris and Sian both whipped round at the same time to look at me. None of us dared say more in front of Philomena Naenia, who had at last managed to locate the exit.

"Well, goodnight to you," she said a little waspishly, and she began to move out of sight again. Only the edge of her hat brim remained in view when I gave a shout.

"Wait! Have you told Triphorm you saw this?"

Philomena Naenia stuck her blindfolded head back into the picture.

"Professor Triphorm has more important things on her mind than the many eccentricities of Susan Crighton. _Goodbye_ , Pride-Lander!"

And with that, she vanished completely, leaving behind her nothing but her murky backdrop.

"Kiara!" Sian cried.

"I know!" I shouted. Unable to contain myself, I punched the air. It was more than I had dared to hope for. I strode up and down the tent, feeling that I could have run a mile; I did not even feel hungry any more. I hugged Chris tightly, not caring about boundaries, wanting him to share my joy in that moment, as Sian was squashing Philomena Naenia's portrait back into the beaded bag: when she had fastened the clasp, she threw the bag aside and raised a shining face to Chris and me.

"The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Faun-made blades imbibe only that which strengthens them - Kiara, that sword's impregnated with Liznsnabadra venom!"

"And Crighton didn't give it to me because she still needed it, she wanted to use it on the locket - "

" - and she must have realised they wouldn't let you have it if she put it in her will - "

" - so she made a copy - "

" - and put a fake in the glass case - "

" - and she left the real one ... where?"

We gazed at each other; I felt that the answer was dangling invisibly in the air above us, tantalisingly close. Why hadn't Crighton told me? Or had she, in fact, told me, but I had not realised it at the time?

"Think!" whispered Sian. "Think! Where would she have left it?"

"Not at Dragon Mort," I said, letting go of Chris to pace the floor.

"Somewhere in Dragsmeade?" suggested Sian.

"The Howling House?" I said. "Nobody ever goes in there."

"But don't forget, Triphorm knows how to get in there, Kiara," said Chris. "Wouldn't that be a bit risky?"

"Crighton trusted Triphorm," I reminded him.

"Not enough to tell her that she had swapped the swords," said Sian.

"Yeah, you're right!" I said; and I felt even more cheered at the thought that Crighton had some reservations, however faint, about Triphorm's trustworthiness. "So, would she have hidden the sword well away from Dragsmeade, then? What d'you reckon, Chrissie? Chrissie?"

I looked around. For one bewildered moment I thought that Chrissie had left the tent, before realising that Chrissie was lying in the shadow of a lower bunk, looking stony.

"Oh, remembered me, have you?" she said.

"What?"

Chrissie snorted as she stared up at the underside of the upper bunk.

"You three carry on. Don't let me spoil your fun."

Perplexed, I looked at Chris and Sian for help, but they both shook their heads, apparently as nonplussed as I was, though Sian looked slightly worried.

"What's the problem?" I asked.

"Problem? There's no problem," said Chrissie, still refusing to look at me. "Not according to you, anyway."

There were several _plunks_ on the canvas over our heads. It had started to rain.

"Well, you've obviously got a problem," I said. "Spit it out, will you?"

Chrissie swung her long legs off the bed and sat up. She looked mean, unlike herself.

"All right, I'll spit it out. Don't expect me to skip up and down the tent just because there's some other damn thing we've got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don't know."

"I don't know?" I repeated. " _I_ don't know?"

 _Plunk_ , _plunk_ , _plunk_ ; the rain was falling harder and heavier; it pattered on the leaf-strewn bank all around us and into the river chattering through the dark. Dread doused my jubilation: Chrissie was saying exactly what I had suspected and feared her to be thinking.

"It's not like I'm having the time of my life here," said Chrissie, "you know, with my mangled arm and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something."

"Chrissie, please don't do this," Sian pleaded, but Chrissie ignored her.

"I thought you knew what you'd signed up for," I said.

"Yeah, I thought I did too."

"So what part of it isn't living up to your expectations?" I asked. Anger was coming to my defence now. "Did you think we'd be staying in five star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you'd be back to the rest of your family by Christmas?"

"We thought you knew what you were doing!" shouted Chrissie, standing up; and her words pierced me like scalding knives. "We thought Ma had told you and Sian what to do, we thought you had a plan!"

"Chrissie!" Sian pleaded, even louder, but again, Chrissie ignored her.

"Well, sorry to let you down," I said, my voice quite calm even though I felt hollow, inadequate. "I've been straight with you from the start, I told you everything Crighton told Sian and me. And in case you haven't noticed, we've already found one Horcrux - "

"Yeah, and we're about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them - nowhere effing near, in other words!"

"Take off the locket, Chrissie," Sian begged, her voice cracking. "Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day."

"Sian's right, Chrissie," said Chris reasonably. "This is not you, you're not thinking straight."

"Yes, Chris, she is," I said, not wanting any excuses made for Chrissie. "D'you think I haven't noticed the three of you whispering behind my back? D'you think I didn't guess you were thinking this stuff?"

"Kiara, we weren't - "

"It's not what you - "

"Don't lie!" Chrissie hurled at them. "You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd both thought she had a bit more to go on than - "

"We never said it like that, Kiara - you have to believe us!" said Chris imploringly, as Sian nodded her head vigorously.

The rain was pounding the tent, San looked like she was about to cry, and the excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been, a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet and cold. The sword of Lion-Heart was hidden and we knew not where, and we were four teenagers in a tent whose only achievement was not, yet, to be dead.

"So why are you sill here?" I asked Chrissie.

"Search me," said Chrissie.

"Go home then," I said.

"Yeah, maybe I will!" shouted Chrissie, and she took several steps towards me, and instead of backing off, I stood my ground, listening to every word Chrissie said. "Didn't you hear what they said about my sister? But you don't give a rat's fat, do you, it's only the Black Forest, Kiara _I've-Faced-Worse_ Pride-Lander doesn't care what happens to her in here, well, I do, all right, giant spiders and mental stuff - "

"Chrissie, that's not what Kiara was insinuating at all!" Sian said reasonably, but instead of calming Chrissie down, these words made her turn on Sian.

"Why aren't you more upset by Kiara's indifferent nature towards our sister, Sian?"

"Because Kiara wasn't insulting her, Chrissie! Besides," Sian added, clearly stung by Chrissie's tone, "I've got my head on straight."

Chrissie glared at her.

"What's that supposed to - ?"

"Look," I said quickly, "I was only saying - she was with the others - they were with Mina -

" - yeah, I get it, you don't care! None of you do! And what about the rest of my family, 'the Dawsons don't need any more losses', did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I - "

"Not bothered what it meant, though?"

"Chrissie, that's enough!" said Chris sternly. "You're not thinking clearly!"

"Chris is right," said Sian, forcing her way in between Chrissie and I. "I don't think it means anything new has happened, what they were saying, anything we don't know about; think, Chrissie, Ma's dead, Sam's already scarred, plenty of people must have seen that Geri has lost an ear by now, and you're supposed to be on your deathbed with Spattergroit, I'm sure that's all she meant - "

"Oh, you're sure, are you?" Right then, well, I won't bother myself about them. In fact, Sian and Chris won't either, Kiara. We'll just stay here, thinking everything's fine and dandy. It's all right for you, isn't it, Kiara, with your parents safely out of the way - "

"Your mother's _dead_ , Chrissie!" I bellowed, ignoring Sian's flinch. "And my parents could shortly follow!"

"And the rest of mine could well be going the same way!" yelled Chrissie.

"Then GO!" I roared. "Go back to them, pretend you've got over your Spattergroit and someone there'll be able to feed you up and - "

Chrissie made a sudden movement: I reacted, but before either of our wands could clear our pockets, Sian had raised her own.

 _"Protego!"_ she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between she, Chris and I on the one side and Chrissie on the other; all of us were forced backwards a few steps by the strength of the spell and Chrissie and I glared from either of the transparent barrier as though we were seeing each other clearly for the first time. I felt a corrosive hatred towards Chrissie: something had broken between us.

"Leave the Horcrux," I said.

Chrissie wrenched the chain from over her head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. She turned to Chris, but he stood behind me, his hand on my should, and I knew that he was staying with me. I smiled gratefully at him, which he returned, before turning to glare at Chrissie. Chrissie sneered at him, then turned to Sian.

"What about you, Sian? What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you staying, or what?"

"Of course I'm staying, Chrissie," said Sian. "We said we'd go with Kiara, we said we'd help - "

"I get it. You choose her over me," Chrissie said. She then snorted and added, "Some sister you are."

Sian's face showed nothing but shock and pain at Chrissie's words: she looked as though Chrissie had just slapped her, but that did not stop Sian from crying, "Chrissie, no - please - come back, come back!"

She was impeded by her own Shield Charm; by the time she had removed it, Chrissie had already stormed into the night. Chris and I stood quite still and silent, his hand still on my shoulder, listening to her sobbing and calling Chrissie's name amongst the trees.

After a few minutes she returned, her sopping hair plastered to her face.

"She's g-g-gone! Disapparated!"

She threw herself into a chair, curled up and started to cry.

I felt dazed. I stooped, picked up the Horcrux and placed it around my own neck, as Chris knelt beside Sian and wrapped his arms around her; she leant into his embrace, needing the comfort of her brother, I realised, to compensate for the arms of the one person she needed the most who was no longer with us.

But just then, a soft emerald green light appeared behind us, growing brighter every second. Chris, Sian and I turned to face it, shielding our eyes as best we could from the blinding brightness, and as the light faded and our eyes adjusted and colours of blue, green and yellow stopped flashing behind our eyelids, we were surprised by what was standing - or should I say, _hovering_ \- before us.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: So, I apologise for this chapter being so short, but this is important for what is going to happen in a few chapters time, along with the rest of this first book. The next chapter will be longer, as we will be going back to the Pride Lands, so keep your eyes peeled for that. For now, though, here's this chapter.**

 **Chapter 18**

 **A Dark Surprise**

 **KIARA**

It was a phoenix, her beautiful scarlet plumage gleaming in the firelight, and her sharp, beady eyes surveying us pointedly; yet there was something strange about her, for her outline was glowing emerald green which was blurred strangely and little spiritual wisps were emanating off of it. I looked at Chris, but he looked just as confused as I did. Sian, however, knew exactly who the phoenix was.

"Mother?" she said, looking up in amazement, sounding like a lost little girl needing comfort. The phoenix stared at her balefully, as Sian wiped her eyes, smiled and said, "Oh, I've missed you so much, Mother! More than I thought I could. I don't think I've ever felt so alone before. Oh, Ma - "

Sian got up and ran to her mother who, instead of turning into her human form and embracing her child, turned away from her and headed towards the tent's entrance. As soon as she saw this, Sian stopped, looking confused as to what was going on.

"Mother ... why are you doing this? You can't turn your back on me, not now, not when I need you the most! I've waited for you! I've done everything you've asked of me, and this is how you repay me? No, you can't leave me now! Not like this! NO! NOOOOO!" Sian cried, rushing after her mother, who had just flown through the gap.

Sian was about to go after her, but Chris caught her. Sian struggled against him, crying, screaming, writhing, until she slumped against him, bawling her eyes out and screaming a cry of heartache that hit me like a knife to the gut. Angry at Crighton's behaviour towards Sian, I ran out of the tent, hoping to find and have a few choice words with her before she flew too far.

In fact, she was not too hard to find; she was standing not too far from the tent entrance and had transformed back into her human form with her face turned away from mine, her shoulders hunched as though she were in pain, as Sian's cries washed over us; I only noticed her because of her spiritual emerald green glow that surrounded her.

"The Oracle was right," I heard her muttering to herself, "... I really have been gone far too long ..."

"Ma'am?" I said, and Crighton turned gracefully around to me, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw me.

"Kiara, what are you doing out here?"

"To talk to you, ma'am, about what happened in there?"

Crighton's eyes became saddened again, and we were silent as we surveyed each other in the pouring rain. My hair was plastered to my skin and my clothes were wet through, but I didn't care. As Crighton and I continued to stand there, the wind picked up and the rain became heavier. At last, I decided to speak.

"Why did you turn your back on Sian just now, ma'am? She needs you, now more than ever, and you're not even going to comfort her!"

"It's not because I don't love her," said Crighton, "because I do. My love for Sian will never stop."

"Then why did you - ?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Why?"

"Because the Oracle forbade me to!" Crighton cried. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and said, "Listen, Kiara, the Oracle made a prophecy about Sian's death, and somehow, I am involved, and if I stay away from her after I see her, then I might just be able to save her, and that is all I can tell you about this."

"But what if you don't?" I asked her. Crighton looked at me, shocked. "What if, instead of saving your daughter by turning your back on her, you've actually destroyed her?"

Crighton looked at me for a moment, shook her head and said, "That's a risk I'm going to have to take, Kiara."

"Ma'am, please don't do this, don't turn away from Sian now! Can't you hear her cries? Doesn't that bother you?"

"Of course it does, Kiara!" Crighton cried, her face pained. "It hurts to know that I have to turn my back on my baby in order that she will live, but I have to. Besides, it will help her accept my death better in the long run."

"Better than Sian's been taking it so far, you mean?" I asked, scoffing at Crighton's apparently careless attitude. "Let me ask you something, ma'am, because I'm curious - have you even bothered to check on Sian after you died? Have you not been watching her?"

"Of course I have!" Crighton said, as ghostly tears fell down her cheeks. "I've been checking up on her every day since I died, and all I wanted to do, every time I saw her upset, was rush in, hold her in my arms and comfort her, but I couldn't, because I know that this is an experience that Sian has to go through, because we will all lose someone in the end. But seeing her as she is now ..."

"But if you feel this way, then surely you must want to - ?"

"I can't, Kiara!" Crighton screamed. "I won't hurt Sian like that!"

"No more than you already are!" I yelled back.

Crighton said nothing.

The wind and rain picked up as we stood there in stony silence, but neither Crighton or myself moved an inch.

"Then why are you here, then?" I asked Crighton after a while. "If you're not here to comfort Sian, then why are you here?"

"To test myself," said Crighton slowly. "To see if I was strong enough. To see if I could endure Sian's pain without running to her aid."

"And can you?" I asked her. Crighton, again, said nothing, and that told me everything I needed to hear.

"I thought not," I said, as I nodded my head. "You love your daughter, yet you won't comfort her when she needs you most? I guess everything that's been written and said about you since your death is true, ma'am." Crighton looked at me, shocked. "Oh, don't be so surprised, ma'am, I'm not the only one who's heard and read about your life. But do you know what else? Do you know what I've just discovered, ma'am?"

Crighton shook her head, watching me warily.

"Well, I've discovered just how ashamed I am of you, ma'am!" I said vehemently, as the first flash of lightning struck the sky, covering Crighton's shocked gasp at my words.

"You know, ma'am," I told her, not caring if I sounded rude, as all of my anger towards Crighton that had been building over the past few months finally found an outlet, "I've thought of you as many things over the years: eccentric, loving, brilliant, genius ... but I never thought of you as cold and cruel until now. So I'm going to give you one chance to go in there and comfort Sian, like a good mother should, before I make you leave."

Crighton shook her head solemnly and said, "Kiara, I - "

"Save your breath, ma'am!" I spat, as more lightning flashed. "I should've known it would be pointless to reason with you, ma'am! Just do us all a favour and go! You've done enough damage here as it is - to Sian especially!"

And without waiting to see if Crighton had gone, I turned on my heel and marched straight back into the tent, to find Chris and Sian exactly where I had left them a few minutes earlier.

Sian looked up at me eagerly.

"I'm sorry," was all I said, for I had no idea what else to say, but Sian seemed to understand, for she burst into tears again, crying harder than ever before into Chris' shoulder. I walked past them, feeling dazed as I got changed, dried myself, climbed on to my own bed and stared up at the dark canvas roof, listening to the pounding of the rain and the mad clashing and crashing of thunder and lightning, which did nothing to cover up Sian's stabbing cries of suffering and heartache.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: So, now we are going back to the Pride Lands. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I tried to keep the look of the Pride Lands as close to how they look in _The Lion King_ when Scar takes over and they are run by him and the hyenas, but of course there are some differences. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I will be back same time next week with another. **

**Chapter 19**

 **The Pride Lands**

 **KIARA**

When I woke the following day, it was several seconds before I remembered what had happened. Then I hoped, childishly, that it had been a dream, that Chrissie was still there and had never left. Yet by turning my head on my pillow I could see Chrissie's deserted bunk. It was like a dead body in the way it seemed to draw my eyes. I jumped down from my own bed, keeping my eyes averted from Chrissie's. Chris, who was helping Sian in the kitchen, turned and smiled faintly at me by way of greeting me. Sian, however, did not bother turning around; she did not even acknowledge me as I went by, but kept focused on her task at hand.

 _She's gone_ , I told myself. _She's gone._ I had to keep thinking it as I washed and dressed, as though reputation would dull the shock of it. _She's gone and she's not coming back_. And that was the simple truth of it, I knew, because our protective enchantments meant that it would be impossible, once we vacated this spot, for Chrissie to find us again.

Chris, Sian and I ate in silence. Sian's eyes were puffy and red; she looked as if she had not slept. We packed up our things, Sian dawdling. I knew why she wanted to spin out time on the riverbank; several times Chris and I would see her look up eagerly and we were sure that she had deluded herself into thinking that she heard footsteps through the heavy rain, but no brown-haired figure appeared between the trees. Chris would often look too, and sadness would cloud his eyes, and every time I imitated them (for I could not help hoping a little myself) and saw nothing but rain-swept woods, another little parcel of fury exploded inside me. I could hear Chrissie saying _"We thought you knew what you were doing!"_ , and I resumed packing with a hard knot in the pit of my stomach.

The muddy river beside us was rising rapidly and would soon spill over on to our bank. We had lingered a good hour after we would usually departed our campsite. Finally, having entirely repacked the beaded bag three times, Sian seemed unable to find any more reasons to delay: she, Chris and I grasped hands and Disapparated, reappearing on a windswept, heather-covered hillside.

The instant we arrived Sian dropped mine and Chris' hands and walked away from us, finally sitting down on a large rock, her face on her knees, shaking with what I knew were sobs. I watched her, supposing that I ought to go and comfort her, but something kept me rooted to the spot. Everything inside me felt cold and tight: again I saw the contemptuous expression on Chrissie's face. I strode off through the heather as Chris went to Sian, sat down beside her and put his arms around her, and as this happened I walked in a large circle with the distraught Sian and her comforting brother at its centre, casting the spells she usually performed to ensure our protection.

We did not discuss Chrissie at all over the next few days. I was determined never to mention her name again; Chris didn't mention her out of respect for Sian, and Sian herself rarely spoke at all. In fact, the only sounds she made were at night when Chris and I were supposed to be sleeping, and I heard her crying. Meanwhile, I had started bringing out the Scallywag's Map and examining it by wandlight. I was waiting for the moment when Chrissie's labelled dot would reappear in the corridors of Dragon Mort, proving that she had returned to the comfortable castle, protected by her status of pure-blood. However, Chrissie did not appear on the Map, and after a while I came to the conclusion that Chrissie wasn't going back, so I put it back in the pouch around my neck, where it stayed for many months.

By day, we devoted ourselves to trying to determine the possible locations of Lion-Heart's sword, but the more we talked about the places in which Crighton might have hidden it, the more desperate and far-fetched our speculation became. Cudgel my brains though I might, I could not remember Crighton ever mentioning a place in which she might hide something. There were moments when I did not know whether I was angrier with Chrissie or Crighton. _We thought we knew what you were doing_ ... _we thought Ma had told you what to do_ ... _we thought you had a real plan!_

I could not hide it from myself: Chrissie had been right. Crighton had left me with virtually nothing. We had discovered one Horcrux, but we had no means of destroying it: the others were as unattainable as they had ever been. Hopelessness threatened to engulf me. I was staggered, now, to think of my own presumption in accepting my friends' offer to accompany me on this meandering, pointless journey. I knew nothing, I had no ideas, and I was constantly, painfully on the alert for any indication that Chris and Sian, too, were about to tell me that they had both had enough, that they were leaving.

We were spending many evenings in near silence, and Sian took to bringing out Philomena Naenia's portrait and propping it up on a chair, as though she might fill part of the gaping hole left by Chrissie's departure. Despite her previous assertion that she would never visit us again, Philomena Naenia did not seem able to resist the chance to find out more about what I was up to, and consented to reappear, blindfolded, every few days or so. I was even glad to see her, because she was company, albeit of a snide and taunting kind. We relished any news about what was happening at Dragon Mort, though Philomena Naenia was not an ideal informer. She venerated Triphorm, the first Snake-Eyes Headmistress since she herself had controlled the school, and we had to be careful not to criticise, or ask impertinent questions about Triphorm, or Philomena Naenia would instantly leave her painting.

However, she did let drop certain snippets. Triphorm seemed to be facing a constant, low-level of mutiny from a hard core of students. Kestrel had been banned from going into Dragsmeade. Triphorm had reinstated Umber's old decree of gatherings of four or more students, or any unofficial student societies.

From all of these things I had deduced that Kestrel, and probably Nikita, Keziah and Lincoln with her, had been doing their best to continue Crighton's Army. This scant news made me, like Chris and Sian, want to see Kestrel and the other Dawsons. What can I say, I missed them, I missed them so much it felt like stomach ache, which I knew Sian felt only ten times worse; but it also made me think of Chrissie again, and of Crighton, and of Dragon Mort itself, which I missed nearly as much as I missed the Dawsons and my family. Indeed, as Philomena Naenia talked about Triphorm's crackdown, I experienced a split second of madness when I imagined simply going back to school to join the destabilisation of Triphorm's regime: being fed, and having a soft bed, and other people being in charge seemed the most wonderful prospect in the world at that moment. But then I remembered that I was Undesirable Number One, that there was a ten thousand Galleon price on my head, and that to walk into Dragon Mort these days was just as dangerous as walking into the Ministry of Magic. Indeed, Philomena Naenia inadvertently emphasised this fact by slipping in leading questions about mine, Chris and Sian's whereabouts. Sian shoved her back inside the beaded bag every time she did this, and Philomena Naenia invariably refused to reappear for several days after these unceremonious goodbyes.

As the weeks passed, Chris and I noticed a severe change in Sian's behaviour. She never spoke. Not once. Chris and I would continue discussions on our own, knowing that we would get nothing out of Sian. We would know that she was there, for she would always make us tea and things to eat, but other than that, she was like an invisible ghost. I think the full weight of all she had lost had finally caught up with her; Chris and I used to glance at her as we took watch outside, talking quietly before either of us would go to bed, and every time we saw her, Sian would always be at the table, her shoulders hunched, her expressionless eyes devoid of tears. I don't think I have ever seen a person look as empty, lost, hopeless and dejected as Sian looked in those days.

So, the weather grew colder and colder. We did not dare remain in any one area too long, so rather than staying in the south of England, where a hard ground frost was the worst of our worries, we continued to meander up and down the country, braving a mountainside, where sleet pounded the tent, a wide flat marsh, where the tent was flooded with chill water, and a tiny island in the middle of a Scottish lock, where snow half buried the tent in the night.

We had already spotted Christmas trees twinkling from several sitting-room windows, before there came an evening when I resolved to suggest, again, what seemed to me the only unexplored avenue left to us. We had just eaten an unusually good meal: Sian had been to a supermarket under the Invisibility Cloak (taking it off just outside so that she could pay for the goods) and I thought that she might be more persuadable than usual on a stomach of spaghetti Bolognese and tinned apples. I had suggested the idea to Chris earlier on that day, and he said what have we got to lose. I had also had the foresight to suggest that we take a few hours' break from wearing the Horcrux, which was hanging over the end of the bunk beside me.

"Sian?"

"Hm?" She was curled up in one of the sagging armchairs with _The Tales of Willow the Writer_. I could not imagine how much more she could get out of the book, which was not, after all, very long; but evidently she was still deciphering something in it, because _Spellman's Syllabary_ lay open on the arm of the chair.

I cleared my throat. I felt exactly as I had done on the occasion, several years previously, when I had asked Professor Darbus whether I could go into Dragsmeade, despite the fact that my permission slip had been burned and my grandmothers would not let me go.

"She's not going to bite, you know?" Chris whispered.

"That doesn't stop me from being nervous, Chris!" I hissed, before I turned to Sian and said, "Sian, I've been thinking - "

"Chris, Kiara, could you both help me with something?" she said, her voice hoarse from lack of use and quite harsh and cold.

Apparently she had not been listening to me. She leaned forwards and held out _The Tales of Willow the Writer_.

"Look at that symbol," she said, pointing to the top of the page. Above what I assumed was the title of the story (being unable to read runes, I could not be sure), there was a picture of what looked like a three fingered hand, and all three fingers were connected to a large circle at the top.

"Neither of us took runes, S.D.," said Chris.

"I know that, but it isn't a rune and it's not in the Syllabary, either. All along I thought it was a picture of a hand, but I don't think it is! It's been inked in, look, somebody's drawn it there, it isn't really part of the book. Think, have either of you seen it before?"

"No, sorry," said Chris, shaking his head.

"No ... no, wait a moment." I looked closer. "Isn't it the same symbol Lincoln's mum was wearing round her neck?"

"Well, that's what I thought too!"

"Then it's Femwazz's mark."

She and Chris both stared at me, open-mouthed.

 _"What?"_

"How do you know?"

"Kovu told me ..."

I recounted the story that Kovu Outsider had told me at the wedding. Sian looked astonished.

" _Femwazz's_ mark?"

She looked from Chris and I to the weird symbol and back again. "I've never heard the Femwazz had a mark. There's no mention of it in anything I've ever read about her."

"Well, like I say, Kovu reckoned that symbol was carved on a wall at Uagadou, and Femwazz put it there."

She fell back into the old armchair, frowning.

"That's very odd. If it's a symbol of Dark Magic, what's it doing in a book of children's stories?"

"Yeah, it is weird," I said. "And you'd think Scrimwazz would have recognised it. She was Minister, she ought to have been an expert on Dark stuff."

"I know ... perhaps she thought it was a hand, just like I did. All the other stories have little pictures over the titles."

She did not speak, but continued to pore over the strange mark. I tried again.

"Sian?"

"Hm?"

"I've been thinking. I - I want to go to the Pride Lands."

She looked up at me but her eyes were unfocused and I was sure she was still thinking about the mysterious mark in the book.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I've been wondering that too. I really think we'll have to."

"Did you hear me right?" I asked.

"Of course I did. You want to go to the Pride Lands. I agree, I think we should. I mean, I can't think of anywhere else it could be, either. It'll be dangerous, but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems it's there."

"Er - _what's_ there, Sian?" Chris asked.

At that, she looked just as bewildered as Chris and I felt.

"Well, the sword, Rickers! Ma must have known you'd want to go back there, Kiara, and I mean, the Pride Lands are where Louisa Lion-Heart was born - "

"Really? Lion-Heart was born in the Pride Lands?"

"Well of course she was!" said Sian indignantly. "My mother told me. There's a village named after her there - Lion-Heart's Lair - which, yes, I know sounds threatening, but was quite a nice part of the Pride Lands to live in once upon a time. Did neither of you know that?"

"No," said Chris and I together. Sian rolled her eyes.

"Well, you know now, anyway, so there's that."

"Hang on," I said. "I don't understand something here."

"What is it, Kiara?" Chris asked.

"Well, Dragon Mort's in Ireland, so how come Lion-Heart comes from the Pride Lands?"

"I don't know, Kiara," said Sian. "I'm just telling you what my mother told me. Anyway, the village was named after her after she died in order to honour her. In fact, I'm sure all the Dragon Mort founders have villages named after them in the Pride Lands."

But I wasn't listening; I had just remembered what Great-Aunt Lizzie had told me at the wedding.

"You're Great-Aunt Lizzie was right, Sian," I said.

"About what, Kiara?" she said hesitantly.

"About your mother and her family moving to the Pride Lands after her mother killed those Muggles. The only way your mother would have known all this was if she was there and she heard it from others."

Sian looked as though she didn't want to believe what I had just told her, but I watched as her expression turned from disbelief to shock as the realisation of what I had just told her sank in.

"Good God, can it be true?" she whispered to herself, before she shook her head and said, "It doesn't matter. What matters is this, that if the two of you had actually bothered to pick up a copy of _Dragon Mort: A History_ , then you would have seen that the four founders all originated from South Africa and it told you what parts of South Africa they were from; I therefore think that Ma would have expected you to make the connection between the Pride Lands and Lion-Heart Lair, Kiara ..."

"Oh, yeah ..."

I did not want to admit that I had not been thinking about the sword at all when I suggested we go to the Pride Lands. For me, the lure of the Lands lay in my old home, the home where I had narrowly escaped death in, and in the person of Imamu Ibori.

"You know, Sian, your Great-Aunt Lizzie told me that someone still lives in the Pride Lands."

"Who?"

"Imamu Ibori, the South African magical historian."

"Imamu Ibori," muttered Sian thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose - "

She gasped so dramatically that my insides turned over; I watched as Chris drew out his wand at the exact same moment that I did, and we both looked at the entrance, half expecting to see a hand forcing its way through the entrance flap, but there was nothing there.

"What?" I said, half-angry, half-relieved. "What did you do that for? I thought you'd seen a Love Destroyer unzipping the tent, at least - "

"Kiara, _what if Imamu's got the sword_? What if Ma entrusted it to him?"

I considered this possibility. Imamu would probably be an extremely old man by now, and according to Elizabeth, he was "gaga". Was it likely that Crighton would have hidden the sword of Lion-Heart with him? If so, I felt that Crighton had left a great deal to chance: Crighton had never revealed that she had replaced the sword with a fake, nor had she so much as mentioned a friendship with Imamu. Now, however, was not the moment to cast doubt on Sian's theory, not when she was so surprisingly willing to fall in with my dearest wish.

"Yeah, she might've done! So, are we going to the Pride Lands?"

"Yes, but we'll have to think it through carefully, Kiara." She was sitting up now, and I could tell that the prospect of having a plan again had lifted her mood as much as it had done with mine and Chris'. "We'll need to practice Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloak, for a start, and perhaps Disllusionment Charms would be sensible too, unless you two think we should go the whole hog and use Polyjuice Potion? Mind you, from what I've heard, the Pride Lands have been deserted for a very long time ... but then again, we can't underestimate She-You-Know, can we? I also need to look for anything that we can use as a Portkey, too, seeing as I don't think my Apparition is strong enough to travel from one country to another in a split second. Yes, Polyjuice Potion's the best chance for us, in which case we'll need to collect hairs from a few people. The thicker our disguises the better, in my opinion ..."

I let her and Chris talk, nodding and agreeing whenever there was a pause, but my mind had left the conversation. For the first time since I had discovered that the sword in Fauntrotts was a fake, I felt excited.

I was about to go home, about to return to the place where I had been born. It was in the Pride Lands that, but for Zira, I would have grown up and spent every school holiday. I could have invited friends to my castle ... I might have even had brothers and sisters to play and grow up with ... my grandmothers would have been there to celebrate my seventeenth birthday with me. The life I had lost had hardly ever seemed so real to me at this moment when I knew I was about to see the place where it had been taken from me. After Chris and Sian had both gone to bed that night, I quickly extracted my rucksack from her beaded bag, and from inside it the photograph album Mina had given me so long ago. For the first time in months, I perused the old pictures of my parents, smiling and waving up at me from the images, which were the only things of my parents I had managed to take with me.

I would have gladly set out for the Pride Lands the following day, but Sian had other ideas. Convinced as she was that Zira would expect me to return to the scene of my near-death, she was determined that we would set off only after we had ensured that we had the best disguise possible (even Chris agreed that we should travel to the Pride Lands with caution), but I had argued against this point fervently, saying that it was wrong for me to go back there looking like someone else. Sian wasn't happy with me for saying this, and the two of us argued about this for some time, until Chris interjected, saying that Zira's followers were either Snatchers, working at Dragon Mort or with the Ministry, and were therefore not going to abandon their posts to watch out for us in some deadened lands. At this, Sian agreed, albeit reluctantly, to us not using any Polyjuice Potion, but was slightly cheered when I agreed to practice Apparating and Disapparating underneath the Invisibility Cloak, which meant that it was a full week before Sian said that we were ready to make the journey.

We were to take a Portkey that Sian had made by using an old potion bottle from her beaded bag, her, Chris and I all under the Invisibility Cloak under the cover of darkness, so it was late afternoon when the three of us prepared to set off. The beaded bag containing all of our possessions (apart from the Horcrux, which I was wearing around my neck) was tucked into an inside pocket of Sian's buttoned-up coat (Sian had told us to wrap up warm, for even though we were going to South Africa, she said it would be cold in the Pride Lands). I lowered the Invisibility Cloak over all of us as we clutched the Portkey, which turned bright blue before we went spinning through wind and colour, away from England to the place where I was born.

Once my feet had landed on solid ground, and Chris had steadied myself, I knew that we were here. Heart beating in my throat, I opened my eyes, and all the excitement I had felt at coming back here quickly dissolved, as I gasped at what had become of my old home.

The Pride Lands had changed so much since I had left my old home - from the beautiful, enchanted Lands they once were, they were now desolate and dead. The ground was cracked, grey and dry, and there was not a sign of life to be found anywhere. The light was so dim because the clouds were so dark that I could not tell whether it was day or night. I could also see why Sian told Chris and I to wear a coat, because it was bitter cold; I mean, the way the wind was blowing it felt like we were in an ice storm in England, even though the weather wasn't throwing sheets of ice at us. I was shocked to see my home like this, after all the times Grandmother Sarabi told me how beautiful it was, and a solitary tear fell down my cheek at the cold, dark, grey place my old home had become.

I made to take off the Invisibility Cloak, but Sian threw out an arm to stop me.

"Wait," she said, pocketing the potion bottle for later and pulling out her Scanner. She switched it on and, before doing anything else, she paused.

"Oh my God," she breathed.

"What?" whispered Chris.

"It's Christmas Eve!" Sian said, looking up at us.

"You're sure?" said Chris.

"Positive," said Sian. She then shook her head before holding her Scanner above her head and swinging it around once before bringing it back down. After a couple of seconds, Sian nodded and said, "Good. There's no one here but us. Go ahead and take the Cloak off, Kiara."

I didn't need telling twice. Once I had taken the Cloak off the three of us and pocketed it, we all took out our wands and whispered, _"Lumos."_ The tips lighted at once.

I then turned to Sian and asked her, "What happened here?"

"Well, according to legend," she said, "when you were taken from here, your grandfather, Mufasa, who watches over these Lands, had put an enchantment over them. They will remain dead-looking like this, until the Evil Scary Lady is dead, and you, your parents and your little brother have returned here for good."

"Wow," said Chris.

Suddenly, a flash of white light appeared in the sky, and a light wind circled around me.

"What's going on?" I gasped, startled at what was happening.

"Don't worry, Kiara," said Sian, with a dry chuckle. "Your grandfather recognises you and knows you're here. But he also knows that She-You-Know isn't dead yet."

The wind was swept away, but the light still remained.

"Come, Kiara, Chris," said Sian, walking a little in front of us. "There's something I want to show you." And so, the two of us followed her.

As myself, Chris and Sian walked through this deserted landscape, we saw the full extent of the enchantment the Lands were under with help from the wandlight: everything was dead. Nothing grew, nothing lived. For sixteen years, these Lands remained the same. I also had a suspicion that someone was following us, for every once in a while either myself, Chris or Sian would look behind us, but no one was there. As we walked on, the wind blew, the white light in the sky remained and the trees blew towards me, which Sian smiled at. When she saw my look of confusion, she explained.

"The trees and the earth around us are singing, Kiara, because they are glad to see you after so many years of being alone. They are glad to see a Pride-Lander back." She then closed her eyes, smiled, and looked as if she was inhaling the song from the earth. It had been so long since she had last smiled that Chris and I were both happy to see it, even if her happiness was brief.

"Why are you smiling?" I said, smiling with her.

She opened her eyes slowly, looked at Chris and I and, still smiling, said, "I am smiling, Kiara, because the song is so happily beautiful that I wish you could hear it, too." In a flash, the smile faded from Sian's face, and she became serious again. "Now, come on. We've got to keep moving. And try to be as quiet as you can."

We kept walking, but it was hard for us to keep quiet when the ground was so quiet that it felt like we were hearing a gunshot echoing around us whenever one of us stood on a twig. And when there are only three people walking in a wide, open, deserted space, it is even harder to keep your footsteps quiet, because it sounds like hundreds of stomping feet in high definition. We could tell it had been raining, because the water was sinking into the earth and there were drops hanging from the branches of dead trees, and yet, nothing was growing. What was going on? I had to ask Sian.

"Sian?"

"Kiara?"

"It's raining here, but why is nothing growing?"

"All part of the enchantment, kid. Your grandfather wants nothing to grow until you and your family come home for good. Ah, good, we're here!"

You could tell how much the Pride Lands had changed in sixteen years by looking at Pride Castle; for you see, it was grand in a sense, with mud-red slate tiles covering the towers' rooftops and the gold-coloured stones, but there was also a sense of sadness about it, for roots had grown all over it, reaching right up to the very top of the castle, chipping and even removing some of the tiles, even breaking a few windows here and there. It was quite a sight to see.

"What is this place?" I asked.

"This, Kiara, is Pride Castle," said Sian.

"Makes sense."

"I have a question," said Chris.

"Shoot, Rickers."

"How exactly do we get in?"

I thought that this was a good question, and Sian, as I thought, was stumped. But this was my castle, my old home, and therefore I knew I had to try something, so I began to climb the stairs, ignoring the shouts Chris and Sian made.

"Kiara, stop! Wait!"

"What are you doing?"

Roots covered the stairs, and I took great care about where I placed my feet so as to try and not trip up over myself, the light from my wand tip illuminating everything. When I reached the doors, they were covered in roots, too, which I shouldn't have been surprised by. I stood in front of the doors for a few minutes, wondering how on earth I was going to get in, when I touched my forefinger to the knot of roots where I guessed the door handles were and waited.

The effect was immediate. The moment I had touched the knot, the roots on the door started to snap, and soon other snapping noises could be heard. I stood back, and watched, amazed, as the other roots surrounding the castle snapped and sank back into the earth. It was wondrous to behold. I then jumped, as the giant front doors slowly creaked open inwardly, inviting the three of us in.

I then heard footsteps behind me as Chris and Sian ran up the golden steps behind me. Sian patted me on the shoulder.

"Nicely done, kid," she said. "Now, follow me. I know just where to go. Come on." She led the way inside, leaving Chris and I no choice but to follow her.

I could imagine that, long ago, this would have been a beautiful place to live in: sunlight streaming in through the windows, roaring fires welcoming in the fireplaces, the golden stone walls gleaming in the sunlight, the residents of the castle hustling and bustling about their daily business. It was magical! Now, however, it was dreary; the light from our wand tips illuminate the harsh reality of how the walls were dim and covered in grime, the windows were cracked, dirty and covered with root marks, and a fine layer of dust carpeted the floor. It was dark and deserted; I suppose that when my parents left this place, everyone else in the castle left too. Not that I could blame any of them; having to work in a castle with no one to pay you, no one to serve, doing no work whatsoever and having to entertain yourself, it would get pretty boring after a while.

Chris and I followed Sian staircase after staircase. She seemed to know where she was going, for Chris and I certainly didn't. We were pretty high up when Sian suddenly stopped and turned to the right, and she peered inside.

"Why have we stopped here, Sian?" I asked her, as her head popped out of the door and she nodded to herself.

"Just as I thought," she said to herself, as she turned to face us. "This was you parents' bedroom, Kiara. Come on!" She pulled the doors wide open and went inside.

Someone had already been here, we could tell, for furniture, books, papers and letters were strewn all around the room, but judging from the fine layer of dust covering everything, I figured that this must have happened not long after my parents had gone. The sheets had been stripped off the bed and the golden painted crib remained where it was, with dust covering the top and fluff balls gathering underneath. I brushed my fingers against the crib, feeling the cool wood beneath my fingers, glad that I could touch it, relieved to know that it was real, that I had indeed once lived here, and yet I was also sad, because this life had died the day Zira tried to kill me all those years ago.

I then turned to the mantelpiece, the top of which was covered in photographs. I pointed my wand at them, squinting to see what the images were beneath all the dust that covered them. I found that they were all different: there were some showing my parents when they were at Dragon Mort, just starting to date by the looks of it; then there was a big one in the middle, which showed my parents' wedding; then there were some involving Kopa: my mother holding him or reading to him, my father holding him and playing with him on the grass; and then there were pictures of my parents holding me for the ten months that I was with them. All of the occupants were moving, of course, smiling and waving at me as I looked at them.

Meanwhile, Chris was searching through the bookshelves, and Sian was looking under the bed to see if they could find anything interesting. Sian had one hand down the back of the bed in between the mattress and the headboard, groping, her tongue between her teeth. A second later, she seemed to have struck gold, for she was pulling something out, and that something turned out to be a small, old, brown, leather-bound book. Sian rifled through it quickly, muttered to herself, "Just as I thought," then said loud enough for both Chris and I to hear, "Kiara?"

"Yeah?"

"I've found your father's journal."

Chris and I turned to look at her, and found that what she said was true; I could tell by the size of it. Chris and I walked over to Sian and we both had a look in the book. My father's entries ranged from when he left school all the way up to the day I was taken from my parents; I could tell from the neat handwriting and also how the pages had turned yellow with age. Sian stepped away from us and turned the pages carefully, her wand aloft, looking at everything my father had written - well, almost everything.

"So, what did he write, Sian?" I said. "I'm anxious to know what my father put in there."

"As am I," said Chris. "So c'mon, S.D., read us some interesting bits from his journal."

"You know, we shouldn't really read this," Sian said, looking at us. "After all, you private thoughts go into a journal."

"Sian, my father's not here, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him," I said, and I haven't told my father about it to this day, and I don't plan to, either.

"All right," Sian sighed reluctantly, before flipping through the entries in the journal. Suddenly, she stopped. "Ah, here's something about your brother, Kiara."

"Read it, S.D.," I said.

"Are you sure, Kiara?"

"I'm sure. Now, read it!"

Sian sighed and read, "June thirteenth, nineteen ninety-three. My son, Kopa, is dead! Z- She-You-Know has killed him, but now she knows about our new baby coming. I am worried about my unborn child's safety, but I am grieving for the loss of my son. If there is truly a God above, I want Him and my father to tell Kopa that his mother and I love him very much, and that we will never stop. I am also sad that he will not get to know his little brother or sister when they come, but I'll protect them better, and give them the same amount of love and care that I gave my son - maybe a bit more than necessary, but we shall see what happens."

We were all silent for a moment, then I said, "What does the last entry say, S.D.?"

Sian quickly flipped through the journal, found the last entry and read aloud once more.

"May thirtieth, nineteen ninety-four. It has happened. Our worst fears have been realised: She-You-Know tried to kill our baby girl, Kiara. Nala suspects the Absters could be behind this, but as to that, I cannot be too sure. All I know for sure is that our hearts are heavy with grief, because not only has Kiara been taken out of our hands by Crighton to be given more protection by our mothers, but she also has a rather horrible scar shaped like a flame on her forehead as a permanent reminder of what happened here today. Brilliant.

"One thing puzzles me, though: why didn't She-You-Know kill Kiara? I mean, the curse was performed, right, so why didn't it work properly? This does not mean that I'm not happy about the curse failing, because I am, I'm just wondering - it might have something to do with me; after all, when Kiara was first put into my arms, I felt a surge of energy, the likes of which I have never felt before, being transferred from a part of my soul into my daughter, which may have provided her with the ultimate protection and may have just saved her life today. I may be wrong, but it's just a theory, after all.

"Nala's going after the Absters. She reckons they may have something to do with this, and it's just occurring to me now that all those nights that she's chosen to sneak out lately, I think she's following them and seeing if she could find any information on them. I'm going with my wife, to keep an eye on her more than anything else. I just hope that she doesn't do anything stupid.

"Kiara, this last message I leave directly to you. I hope that one day soon we may meet again. Your mother and I both know that you will have a hard life ahead of you, and also know that we love you, always have, always will. We will be thinking of you wherever we are, and even though we will be apart physically, we will always have each other in spirit. And if ever you meet She-You-Know again, Kiara, be sure to finish her off for the entire planets' sake, so that you can deliver us into a better world where fear and pain will be no more. Before I put this book and pencil down forever, I want my daughter to know that if she ever finds this book, she can keep it and take it with her wherever she goes, so that she will have another part of me to take with her. Always."

Silence fell between the three of us. Sian closed the journal and put it in her bag. She then looked up at me and said, "Come, Kiara. There's one more thing you have to see."

She walked to the door and stopped, holding it open for us. I took one last look around my parents' old room, before I followed Chris and Sian out of it, turned right and walked on.

We walked up many more staircases and corridors, and I felt saddened at how lifeless and grey everything looked, until we reached a spiral staircase which we climbed. After a few minutes of us spiralling upwards, we came to an arched, wooden, iron-bolted door. Sian undid the bolts and the door opened outwards into the open air, for we were on the roof.

I gasped as I looked out over the lands that were once green and flourishing, but now resembled a barren wasteland, and I could not believe that this is what had become of my homeland, and all because the Evil Scary Lady had tried to kill me all those years ago. It made me angry; so angry, in fact, that I didn't realise that Chris and Sian were standing on either side of me - for I was at the balcony - until Sian said gently, "It's awful, isn't it?"

I was too angry to speak, so I just nodded. Sian gave my arm a gentle squeeze before she turned away from the balcony and moved to stand in the centre of the roof. Chris and I watched her, wondering what on earth she was doing. We soon found out, for she had picked up a long staff from the ground, tapped it three times on the ground in front of her and stood back.

I grabbed Chris' hand unconsciously, and I felt him squeeze my hand, as a low rumbling sound from below began and grew louder as the ground shook around us. Chris and I hurried over to Sian, as the tremors grew and the rumbling grew louder still, until the head of a statue started to emerge out of the stone, slowly rising until it towered over us, and stopped. The exact moment the statue stopped growing, the rumbling stopped too and a few feet in front of the statue a wooden sign sprung up. We all gazed in amazement at the statue for a few moments, before I stepped closer to the statue in order to see it better, even though the light from our wands was doing quite a good job of making me see it.

The statue was of three people: a man, a woman and a baby. The man and woman were both smiling lovingly at the baby girl in her mother's arms, and the parents were both wearing crowns on their heads, and both crowns had a symbol of the kingdom in the middle: a circle with a line down the middle, and on one half was the sun, and the other half was the moon. I then looked at the sign, pointing my wand to it, which read:

 _This statue - which is invisible to Muggles, as is the spot where She-You-Know tried to kill Kiara - is put in place to remind us, Kiara and her family in particular, of what happened that dreadful day all those years ago on the 30th May, 1994, when She-You-Know tried to kill baby Kiara. This statue, placed on top of the building where the Pride-Landers once lived, stands as a mark to remind us what we could have lost. Kiara Pride-Lander, wherever you are, we are all behind you and may God bless you. Long Live Kiara Pride-Lander! Long live the Girl Who Lived!_

I smiled with tears in my eyes as I read this. Around the writing I saw that people had carved their initials into the wood, or else written encouraging messages for me in everlasting ink for me; I also saw a mark that looked like a three-fingered hand, which I found rather odd. Anyway, one of the messages was from Harry Potter himself, which read, _Finish her off for us, Kiara, just like I did with Voldemort_ , with his signature beneath it.

Chris and Sian had both been standing beside me for some time in silence, reading the sign themselves. I asked, "Your mother made this for me, didn't she?"

I looked at Sian for an answer.

Sian nodded and said, "Yes. She knew you'd come back here someday, so she wanted to leave something for you, even after she'd left this earth, so that you'd know others were always thinking of you."

"So how do you know about all this stuff?"

"My mother brought me here years ago, but we came to this spot on the roof instead of walking through the front door. She could Apparate from country to country, you know, she was quite powerful. Anyway, she showed me some of the things in this castle and told me some of the things about you, your family, these lands and this castle. And that's as much as I can tell you for now, I'm afraid, seeing as my mother told me to not tell you anything else."

I nodded, then looked back at the statue, studying it closely.

"Are those my parents?" I then asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Well, why are they wearing crowns? I've never seen them wear crowns in my entire life so far."

I felt more than saw Sian hesitate, before she said, "All in good time, my dear. All in good time." Then she took out her wand, walked round the sign and knelt in front of the statue. I felt confused by Sian's words. _All in good time._ What did that even mean? As though he could read my thoughts, Chris touched my arm. I turned to him, and he just shook his head at me, silently telling me to let it go. I was a little annoyed at this, but I thought it wise to do so, as we both turned back to Sian, who had just stood up, and as she walked back around the sign to stand next to Chris and I again, we both saw that she had created a wreath of Christmas roses.

"Merry Christmas, you guys," I said solemnly, as I felt their arms wrapped around me.

"Merry Christmas, Kiara."

"Is it?" sad Chris heavily. Sian heaved a sad sigh in response, and then there was silence, and for a time that was all there was, as the three of us stood there, on top of an abandoned castle, surrounded by a derelict wasteland, at a statue that at one time symbolised hope for so many, in a world that was slowly crumbling without it.


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: So, here is the next chapter. A bit further down, the POV will change to Sian, and you will begin to see what is wrong with her, which you have to read as it will be important in a chapter or two, as well as the rest of this first book of the last in the series, if you know what I mean. Anyway, enjoy this chapter.**

 **Chapter 20**

 **Imamu's Secret**

 **KIARA**

After a while, I felt Sian stiffen beside me. I looked at her: her face was tense and she looked as though she was straining to hear any noise, like the sound of approaching footsteps.

"What is it, Sian? What's wrong?" I asked her.

"I ... don't know," she said slowly. "I've just got the feeling that ... someone's watching us."

Chris and I looked at each other. We both knew from experience that we should never dismiss Sian's strong feelings, where in such a place as a barren wasteland but no one but the three of us seemed to exist, the idea was laughable. And I was not alone in thinking this.

"Come on, S.D.," said Chris, trying to make light of the situation, "look around you. There's only you, me and Kiara here, alone, in the middle of a dead land. Anyone would be mad to live here now, wouldn't they?"

Sian nodded thoughtfully. "You're right," she said. "I'm being presumptuous, as usual, as well as overthinking things. I guess I'm worried that She-You-Know has got something set up for us, so can you really blame me for - ?"

She broke off then, freezing mid-sentence, and I understood why, for the sound of rasping breathing and shuffling footsteps was growing closer. Chris, Sian and I turned around slowly towards the door to see a man moving slowly towards us. His stoop, his stoutness, his shuffling gait all gave an impression of extreme age. We watched in silence as he drew nearer. At last he came to a halt in front of us, close enough that the light of our wands illuminated him, and he simply stood there in the middle of the freezing castle's rooftop, facing us.

I knew at once that there was no possibility of this man being a Muggle: he was standing there gazing at a statue that ought to have been completely invisible to him, if he was not a wizard. Even assuming that he was a wizard, however, it was odd behaviour to come out to the middle of this barren wasteland, simply to look at an old statue. Nevertheless, I had the strangest feeling that he knew who Chris, Sian and I were. Just as I reached this uneasy conclusion, he raised a gloved hand and beckoned.

Sian stepped right up to my ear.

"How did he know we were here?"

I shook my head. The man beckoned again, more vigorously. I could think of many reasons not to obey the summons, and yet my suspicions about his identity were growing stronger every moment that we stood facing each other on the deserted rooftop.

Was it possible that he had been waiting for us all the long months? That Crighton had told him to wait, and that I would come in the end? Was it not likely that it was he who Chris, Sian and I had felt following us as we moved through the Pride Lands and had followed us to this spot?

Finally I spoke, causing Chris and Sian to jump.

"Are you Imamu?"

The muffled figure nodded and beckoned again.

Chris, Sian and I looked at each other. I raised my eyebrows at each of them in turn: Chris looked nervous and Sian unsure, but they both nodded.

We stepped towards the man and, at once, he turned and hobbled off back the way he had come. We followed him back through the crumbling castle, back outside into the chilly air and around the back of the castle, where we trekked carefully down a steep hill; I kept an eye on Imamu in case he fell or stumbled, but he managed it with ease for a man his age, which surprised me. We then walked along a dry and dirty path, which seemed to stretch on forever, and just when I began to wonder what the point was of Imamu bringing us this way, I stopped, for something had caught my eye.

A little off the path, on the top of a hill, I could just make out some cracked ground. Ignoring Chris, Sian and Imamu, I walked up to it and what I saw was a large crater, which was empty but for a dead blackened tree that was split right up the middle; and it wasn't just the tree that was black, the whole of the inside of the crater was as black as pitch. I felt uneasy as I stared into it, the light of our three wands illuminating the scene, and the longer I looked, the more I felt goose pimples run up and down my body that had nothing to do with the cold; I don't know whether it had to do with the feeling of Dark Magic in the air or the fact that I knew, somehow, that something terrible had happened here, or maybe it was a combination of the two, but I did not feel comfortable standing there, and yet the longer I stood there, the more I found I didn't want to move; it was almost as though some otherworldly force was keeping me rooted to the spot.

I then heard Sian's voice, which sounded distant in my ears; she and Chris had ran up to me without me noticing.

"Why have you stopped here, Kiara?"

"Is this place important, somehow?" said Chris, a slight tremor in his voice.

"Yes," I said, barely registering my own voice. I looked at them both, and I saw that they were scared as I told them, "This is where it happened, you guys. This is where She-You-Know almost killed me all those years ago."

In the wandlight, I saw Chris' face pale as Sian murmured, "Good God!" I don't know what had made me say the words, but somehow I knew them to be true. This was the place where Zira had tried to end my life when I was just a baby ...

Neither myself nor Chris nor Sian had heard Imamu coming back for us. It was only when I felt someone beside me did I notice him. He beckoned me to follow him once more and I nodded. I then turned to Chris and Sian and motioned with my head for them to follow me, which they did at once, skirting around the crater, and once we were away from the source of where my messed up life began, I'm sure that I wasn't the only one who breathed a sigh of relief for getting away from the place where such Dark Magic lay.

The three of us followed Imamu a little further, until we reached a rather shabby-looking cottage made up of rough-hewn concrete with steel sheets making up the roof. He fumbled for a moment with a knot of rope that I assumed was meant to act like a lock of some kind that was attached to the door, then opened it and stood back to let us pass.

He smelled back, or perhaps it was his house: I wrinkled my nose as we sidled past him. Now that I was beside him properly, I realised how tiny he was; bowed down with age, he came barely level with my chest. He closed the door behind us, his knuckles blue and mottled against the peeling wood of the door, then turned and peered into my face. His eyes were thick with cataracts and sunken into folds of transparent skin, and his whole face was dotted with broken veins and liver spots. I wondered whether he could make me out at all, for it was very dark, even with all the sparkling wandlight.

The odour of old age, of unwashed clothes and stale food intensified as he unwound a moth-eaten, black scarf, revealing a head of scant white hair through which the scalp showed clearly.

"Imamu?" I repeated.

He nodded again. I became aware of the locket against my skin; the thing inside it that sometimes ticked or beat had woken; I could feel it pulsing through the cold silver. Did it know, could it sense, perhaps, that the thing that would destroy it was near?

Imamu shuffled past us, pushing Chris and Sian aside as though he had not seen them, and vanished into what seemed to be a sitting room.

"Kiara, I'm not sure about this," breathed Sian.

"I agree," said Chris. "Kiara, doesn't something about all this seem ... I dunno ... _off_ to you, somehow?"

"Look at the size of him; I think we could overpower him if we had to," I said. "Listen, I should have told you two, I knew he wasn't all there. Lizzie called him 'gaga'."

"Come!" called Imamu from the next room.

Sian turned and froze at the sound of Imamu's voice, her expression unsure. Chris put his arm around her reassuringly.

"It's OK," I said gently, and I led the way into the sitting room.

Imamu was tottering around the place lighting candles, but it was still very dark, not to mention extremely dirty. Thick dust crunched beneath our feet and I detected, underneath the dark and mildewed smell, something worse, like meat gone bad. I wondered when was the last time anyone had been inside Imamu's house to check whether he was coping. He seemed to have forgotten that he could do magic too, for he lit the candles clumsily by hand, his trailing raggedy cuff in constant danger of catching fire.

"Let me do that," I offered, and I took the matches from him. He stood watching me as I finished lighting the candle stubs that stood on saucers around the room, perched precariously on stacks of books and on side tables crammed with cracked and mouldy cups.

The last surface on which I spotted a candle was a bow-fronted chest of drawers on which there stood a large number of photographs. When the flame danced into life, its reflection wavered on their dusty glass and silver. I saw a few tiny movements from the pictures. As Imamu fumbled with logs for the fire, I muttered, _"Tergeo."_ The dust vanished from the photographs, and I saw at once that half a dozen were missing from the largest and most ornate frames. I wondered if Imamu or somebody else had removed them. The sight of a photograph near the back of the collection caught my eye, and I snatched it up.

It was the golden-haired, merry-faced thief, the young woman who had perched on Hori's window sill, smiling lazily up at me out of the silver frame. And it came to me, instantly, where I had seen the girl before: in _The Life and Lies of Susan Crighton_ , arm in arm with the teenage Crighton, and that must be where all the missing photographs were: in Peter's book.

"Mr Ibori?" I said, and my voice shook slightly. "Who is this?"

Imamu was standing in the middle of the room watching Sian light the fire for him.

"Mr Ibori?" I repeated, and I advanced, with the picture in my hands, as the flames burst into life in the fireplace. Imamu looked up at my voice and the Horcrux beat faster upon my chest.

"Who is this person?" I asked him, pushing the picture forwards.

He peered at it solemnly, then up at me.

"Do you know who this is?" I repeated, in a much slower and louder voice than usual. "This woman? Do you know her? What's she called?"

Imamu merely looked vague. I felt an awful frustration. How had Peter Meter unlocked Imamu's memories?

"Who is this woman?" I repeated loudly.

"Kiara, what are you doing?" asked Chris.

"This picture, Chris, it's the thief, the thief who stole from Hori! Please!" I said to Imamu. "Who is this?"

But he only stared at me.

"Why did you ask us to come with you, Mr Ibori?" asked Sian, raising her own voice. "Was there something you wanted to tell us?"

Giving no sign that he had heard Sian, Imamu now shuffled a few steps closer to me. With a little jerk of his head, he looked back into the hall.

"You want us to leave?" I asked.

He repeated the gesture, this time pointing first at me, then to himself, then at the ceiling.

"Oh, right ... Chris, Sian, I think he wants me to go upstairs with him."

"All right," said Sian, "let's go."

But when Chris and Sian moved, Imamu shook his head with surprising vigour, once more pointing first at me, then to himself.

"He wants me to go up with him, alone."

"Why?" asked Chris, and his voice rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit room; the old man shook his head a little at the loud noise.

"Maybe Crighton told him to give the sword to me, and only to me?"

"Do you really think he knows who you are, Kiara?" Sian asked, unsure.

"Yes," I said, looking down into the milky eyes fixed upon my own, "I think he does."

"Well, OK then, but be quick, Kiara."

"Be careful," Chris whispered, looking at me intently. "And call us if you need us."

I nodded at him. "Lead the way," I told Imamu."

He seemed to understand, because he shuffled round me towards the door. I glanced back at Chris and Sian with a reassuring smile, but I was not sure that Sian had seen it; as Chris was keeping his eyes locked on me, Sian stood hugging herself in the midst of the candlelit squalor, looking towards the bookcase. As I walked out of the room, unseen by both Sian and Imamu, I slipped the silver-framed photograph of the unknown thief inside my jacket.

The stairs were steep and narrow: I was half tempted to place my hands on stout Imamu's backside to ensure that he did not toppled over backwards on top of me, which seemed only too likely. Slowly, wheezing a little, he climbed to the upper landing, turned immediately right and led me into a low-ceilinged bedroom.

It was pitch-black and smelled horrible: I had just made out a chamber pot protruding from under the bed before Imamu closed the door, sending the room into near darkness, as the only light available was the light from my wand.

Imamu then moved closer to me, cautiously and carefully.

"You really are Pride-Lander?" he whispered.

"Yes, I am."

He nodded slowly, solemnly. I felt the Horcrux beating faster, faster than my own heart: it was an unpleasant, agitating sensation.

"Have you got anything for me?" I asked, but he seemed distracted by my wand-tip.

"Have you got anything for me?" I repeated.

Then he closed his eyes and several things happened at once: my scar pricked painfully; the Horcrux twitched so that the front of my sweater actually moved; the dark, fetid room dissolved momentarily. I felt a leap of joy and spoke in a high, cold voice: _hold her!_

I swayed where I stood: the dark, foul-smelling room seemed to close around me again; I did not know what had just happened.

"Have you got anything for me?" I asked for a third time, much louder.

"Over here," he whispered, pointing to the corner. I raised my wand and saw that outline of a cluttered dressing table beneath the curtained window.

This time he did not lead me. I edged my way between him and the unmade bed, my wand raised. I did not want to look away from him.

"What is it?" I asked as I reached the dressing table, which was heaped high with what looked and smelled like dirty laundry.

"There," he said, pointing at the shapeless mass.

And in the instant that I looked away, my eyes raking the tangled mess for a sword hilt, a ruby, he moved weirdly: I saw it out of the corner of my eye; a panic made me turn and horror paralysed me as I saw the old body collapsing and the great snake pouring from the place where his neck had been.

The snake struck as I raised my wand: the force of the bite to my forearm sent the wand spinning towards the ceiling, its light swung dizzyingly around the room and was extinguished: then a powerful blow from the tail to my midriff knocked the breath out of me: I fell backwards on to the dressing table, into the mound of filthy clothing -

I rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding the snake's tail, which thrashed down upon the table where I had been a second earlier: fragments of the glass surface rained upon me as I hit the floor. From below, I heard Chris call, "Kiara?", which was quickly followed by a bang ...

 **SIAN**

Sian was hugging herself, not only as a means to keep warm, but also as a way of comforting herself in the darkened, smelly cottage as she looked at the bookshelf. She was tired, cold and alone, so very alone, for every good thing that had once been in her life had been cruelly taken from her, starting with her mother, her dear mother, who Sian thought she could always count on, even in death. How foolish of her for thinking so! for Sian hated her mother now, hated her for turning away when she needed her most, for what kind of mother would ever do something like that to their own -

But just as Sian was thinking these thoughts, a great pain, the likes of which she had never felt before, cut through her, striking her very heart and seeming to go all the way through to her soul; the pain was so intense, in fact, that Sian unconsciously grabbed on to the bookcase in front of her in order to steady herself, breathing as steadily as she could under the circumstances, but not too loud as to arouse concern in Chris.

This wasn't the first time Sian had felt this pain, oh no, for it had started not long after her mother had turned her back on the poor girl, in soft jabs at first, but growing increasingly stronger with each passing day, until she was feeling the pain at odd intervals through the day. Sian particularly felt the pain whenever she used magic, no matter if it was a powerful spell or not, and she was able to conceal her winces carefully enough, though for how much longer Sian could keep this façade up without attracting attention, she did not know, but Sian was worried. Not about death - oh no, never that - but for what was happening to her.

"Are you all right, Sian?"

Sian spun around and found herself face to face with Chris, who was looking at her, concerned. Sian quickly straightened up, plastered a fake yet convincing smile on her face and said, "I'm fine, Chris. Just browsing, see?"

Chris eyed her suspiciously for a moment, before he nodded and turned his attention back to the photographs above the fireplace. Inwardly breathing a sigh of relief, Sian looked at the books, and was surprised at the book her hand had fallen upon.

 _The Life and Lies of Susan Crighton_ was lying under her fingertips. She picked it up carefully, and as she saw her mother's picture on the cover, her expression hardened, even as the green mist that she had come to associate with her mother - the same mist that she had seen when staring at the statue in the Ministry, the mist that only she could see - surrounded her as it came out of the book, she ignored it as she studied the book closely, and the more of the book she took in, the more suspicious she became about where she, Chris and Kiara were.

"Hey, Chris, can you come over here?" Sian called.

There was approaching footsteps.

"What is it, S.D.?"

"Look at this book, Chris. And I mean, _really_ look at it," said Sian, handing the book to him. Sian watched Chris as he looked at it, and she was surprised and a little irritated by the fact that he couldn't see what she could.

"What about it?" Chris asked her, shrugging.

Annoyed, Sian snatched the book back and said rather irritably, "Look, this book came out a few months ago, right?"

"Right. So?"

"So, if Peter wrote this, and sent this copy to Imamu to read," she added, tapping the note addressed to Imamu, "then why is the spine still stiff?"

Sian watched in relief as realisation hit Chris, but was thrown off by his next words.

"But didn't Great-Aunt Lizzie tell Kiara that Imamu's going gaga these days?"

"That may be, Rickers," said Sian quickly, "but you can't deny that something's felt wrong ever since we got here, can you?"

Chris shook his head. "No, no I can't. But then, what do you suppose is - what are you doing?" he added quickly, for Sian was putting the book in her beaded bag.

Sian stopped what she was doing and looked up at Chris.

"Look, normally I would disapprove of this kind of thing, but seeing as he hasn't read it yet, I think we're safe. Besides, I don't think he's in any fit state to read it, do you?"

Chris opened his mouth, ready to answer, but before he could do so, a loud bang echoed from upstairs, catching the brother and sister's attention.

"Kiara?" Chris called nervously, approaching the stairs.

He received no answer, but a second later there came another loud bang and a thud; Chris turned back to Sian, his face alert.

"Kiara's in trouble. We have to help her. Come on!"

Sian nodded and hurried forwards, but tripped over her feet as soon as she took her first step, but Chris caught her before she hit the ground, sending some books falling to the floor as a result of her elbow hitting the bookcase. Ignoring her brother's suspicious look, Sian hastily muttered her thanks before sidestepping around him and bounding up the stairs, Chris, of course, right behind her, but neither brother nor sister were prepared for the scene that met their eyes ...

 **KIARA**

I could not get enough breath into my lungs to call back: then a heavy smooth mass smashed me to the floor and I felt it slide over me, powerful, muscular -

"No!" I gasped, pinned to the floor.

 _"Yes,"_ whispered the voice. _"Yess ... hold you ... hold you ..."_

 _"Accio ... Accio wand ..."_

But nothing happened and I needed my hands to try to force the snake from me as it coiled itself around my torso, squeezing the air from me, pressing the Horcrux hard into my chest, a circle of ice that throbbed with life, inches from my own frantic heart, and my brain was flooding with cold, white light, all thought obliterated, my own breath drowned, distant footsteps, everything going ...

A metal heart was banging outside my chest, and now I was flying, flying with triumph in my heart, without need of broomstick or Thestral ...

I was abruptly awake in the sour-smelling darkness; Namzo had released me. I scrambled up and saw the snake outlined against the landing light: it struck, and Sian and Chris dived to either side of the room: Sian's deflected curse hit the curtained window, which shattered. Frozen air filled the room as I ducked to avoid another shower of broken glass and my foot slipped on a pencil-like something - my wand -

I bent and snatched it up, but now the room was full of the snake, its tail thrashing; I saw that Chris had jumped over the bed and landed in a protective crouch in front of me, glaring at the snake, his wand at the ready, but Sian was nowhere to be seen and for a moment I thought the worst, but then there was a loud bang and a flash of red light and the snake flew into the air, smacking me hard in the face as it went, coil after heavy coil rising up to the ceiling. I raised my wand, but as I did so my scar seared more painfully, more powerfully than it had done in years.

"She's coming! _Chris, Sian, she's coming!_ "

As I yelled, the snake fell, hissing wildly. Everything was chaos: it smashed shelves from the wall and splinted china flew everywhere as I grabbed Chris' hand as Sian hurried to join us -

The snake reared again as Sian hurtled herself over the bed, but I knew that worse than the snake was coming, was perhaps already at the gate, my head was going to split open with the pain from my scar -

The snake lunged as I took a running leap, dragging Chris with me, who in turn dragged Sian with him; as it struck, Sian screamed, _"Confringo!"_ and her spell flew around the room, exploding the wardrobe mirror and ricocheting back at us, bounding from floor to ceiling; I felt the heat of it sear the back of my hand. Glass cut my cheek as, pulling both Chris and Sian with me, I leapt from the broken dressing table and then straight out of the smashed window into nothingness, Chris' yell of terror reverberating through the night as we were pulled through wind and colour away from the Pride-Lands ...

And then my scar burst open and I was Zira and I was running across the fetid bedroom, her long, white hands clutching the windowsill as she glimpsed the brown-haired boy and girl and the golden-haired girl in the middle twisted and vanished in the blue light of a Portkey, she screamed with rage, a scream the mingled with the boy's, that echoed across the dark dry gardens, over the distant church bells ringing in Christmas day ...

And her scream was my scream, her pain was my pain ... that I could happen here, where it had happened before ... here, within miles of the tree where I had come so close to die ... to die ... and the pain was so terrible ... ripped from my body ... but if I had no body, why did my head hurt so badly, if I was dead, how could I feel so unbearably, didn't pain cease with death, didn't it go ...

 _The day was warm and bright, the trees swaying lazily in the cool breeze, as the spirits of the earth and water danced and played together ... unaware that she was gliding along, unseen by any ... but slowly, the spirits started to sense a presence that was not supposed to be there ... a dark, evil thing ... and one by one, the spirits departed back to the trees and under the water, where they became still ... she gave a short, cold, cruel laugh and journeyed on, paying no heed to the beauty of the place, for there was important work for her to do that day, and she journeyed on with triumph ... she had waited for this, she had hoped for it ..._

 _Stealthily she glided along, until she heard voices: one rough and hoarse, the other lighter and smoother, accompanied by the joyous shrieks and giggles of a child ... glancing around the trunk of a dead tree, she saw three people on a picnic blanket below, two men and a baby: the first man was large with dark hair, the second man was short and skinny and had auburn hair that was turning steadily grey, and the baby had short blonde hair that was beginning to thicken out, wearing a light green coloured dress ..._

 _She stood there, watching the two men discuss some nonsensical rubbish, she assumed ... apparently the baby seemed to think so too, for she crawled away from her babysitters, directly towards her hiding place ... excitement grew within her as she watched the child come closer and closer ..._

 _Finally the child made it, out of breath but clearly pleased with herself from the way she was giggling ... not for much longer, she thought maliciously, as she decided to show herself ..._

 _Sensing something above her, the girl looked up at her with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was her mother come to play a stupid, foolish game with her -_

 _She pointed the wand very carefully into the girl's face: she wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: it had seen that she was not Nala. She did not like it crying, she had never been able to stomach the small ones' crying in the orphanage -_

"Avada Kedavra!"

 _And then she broke: she was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, as a woman she had never seen before came running to this spot ... attracted, no doubt, by the painful screams of the child ..._

 _The woman handled the child carefully, shock written all over her features, as the two men came running to where they were ..._

 _"You fools!" she yelled, rounding on the men, "you can't let a child like this out of your sight, not even for a second! What were you playing at?"_

 _"Well, er - "_

 _"We were just - "_

 _"Oh, never mind!" said the woman impatiently. "The important thing is is that we get her to Simba and Nala and that they know what has happened so that we can do something about this. Quickly," the woman handed the baby to the skinny man, "take Kiara, go to Pride Castle and tell them what happened. In the meantime, I will be back in my cottage in Wales with Sarafina, because my son wants me there to keep an eye on things for him over there. Now go! Go!"_

 _The woman Disapparated ... the two men took the child to Pride Castle and she followed them at a distance, once again ignoring the land, which had changed from calm, sunny and quiet to dark, stormy and unsettled, as something small and green whizzed past her for the castle ..._

 _When the two men got to the castle, the front doors banged open: she was pleased to see Simba running, panic-stricken, towards the two men, with Nala right behind him ..._

 _"No, Kiara, no! I cannot believe this has happened to you, my baby girl!" Simba screamed, snatching the child out of the skinny man's arms ... he and the stout man left, as Nala came up behind Simba, looking at the child ..._

 _"Simba, this is terrible! Quickly, we must do something to save - "_

 _"We will, Nala," he said, drawing her to him. "We will ..."_

 _She watched the scene before her with pleasure, before soaring in the opposite direction as Simba looked at her - or rather, at a spot close by her ... and she knew then that she must hide herself, not here in the place where she could so easily be found, but far away ... far away ..._

"No," I moaned.

 _The snake rustled on the filthy, cluttered floor, and she had killed the girl, and yet she was the girl ..._

"No ..."

 _And now she stood at the broken window of Imamu's house, immersed in memories of her greatest loss, and at her feet the great snake slithered over broken china and glass ... she looked down, and saw something ..._

"No ..."

"Kiara, it's all right, you're all right!"

 _She stooped down and picked up the smashed photograph. _There she was, the unknown thief, the thief she was seeking ...__

"No ... I dropped it ... I dropped it ..."

"Kiara, it's OK, wake up, wake up!"

I was Kiara ... Kiara, not Zira ... and the thing that was rustling was not a snake ...

I opened my eyes.

"Kiara," Sian whispered, relieved. "Thank goodness!"

"Are you all right?" Chris asked quietly.

"Yes," I lied.

I was in the tent, lying on one of the lower bunks beneath a heap of blankets. I could tell that it was almost dawn by the stillness and the quality of the cold, flat light beyond the canvas ceiling. I was drenched in sweat; I could feel it on the sheets and blankets.

"We got away."

"Yes," said Chris. "I lifted you and carried you here the moment we had Apparated away from the spot we were at earlier, the spot the Portkey took us to, which was a tough job as you were thrashing and jerking with every step I took. You've been ... well, you haven't been quite ..."

There were purple shadows under his and Sian's eyes, and I noticed that he was holding my hand and Sian held a small sponge in her hand: she had been wiping my face.

"You've been ill," he finished. "Quite ill."

"How long ago did we leave?"

"Hours ago. It's nearly morning."

"And I've been ... what, unconscious?"

"Not exactly," said Sian uncomfortably. "You've been shouting and moaning and ... things," she added, in a tone that made me feel uneasy. What had I done? Screamed curses like Zira; cried like the baby in the cot?

"I couldn't get the Horcrux off you," Sian said, and I knew she wanted to change the subject. "Neither of us could. It was stuck, stuck to your chest. You've got a mark, I'm sorry, I had to use a Severing Charm to remove it from you. The snake bit you, too, but I've cleaned the wound and put some dittany on it."

I put two fingers around the neck of the sweaty T-shirt I was wearing, pulled the sticky garment off my skin and looked down. There was a scarlet oval over my heart where the locket had burned me. I could also see the half-healed puncture marks to my forearm.

"Where've you put the Horcrux?"

"In my bag. I think we should keep it off for a while."

I lay back on my pillows and looked into their pinched, grey faces.

"We shouldn't have gone to the Pride Lands. It's my fault, it's all my fault, Sian, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I wanted to go too; I really thought Ma might have left the sword there for you."

"Yeah, well ... we got that wrong, didn't we?"

"What happened, Kiara?" Chris asked me gently. "What happened when he took you upstairs? Was the snake hiding somewhere? Did it just come out and kill him and attack you?"

"No," I said. " _He_ was the snake ... or the snake was him ... all along."

"Wait, what?"

I closed my eyes. I could still smell Imamu's house on me: it made the whole thing horribly vivid.

"Imamu must have been dead a while. The snake was ... was inside him. She-You-Know put it there in the Pride Lands, to wait. You were right, S.D. She knew I'd go back."

"The snake was _inside_ him?"

I opened my eyes again: Chris and Sian both looked revolted, nauseated.

"Meers said there would be magic we never imagined," I said. "He didn't want to talk in front of you two, because it was Parseltongue, all Parseltongue, and I didn't realise, but of course, I could understand him. Once we were up in the room, the snake sent a message to She-You-Know, I heard it happen inside my head, I felt her get excited, she said to keep me there ... and then ..."

I remembered the snake coming out of Imamu's neck: Chris and Sian did not need to know the details.

" ... he changed, changed into the snake, and attacked."

I looked down at the puncture marks.

"It wasn't supposed to kill me, just keep me there 'til She-You-Know came."

If I had only managed to kill the snake, it would have been worth it, all of it ... sick at heart, I sat up and threw back the covers.

"Kiara, no, I'm sure you ought to rest!" said Chris, a hand on my chest, but I thwacked it back.

"You're the ones that need sleep. No offence, but you both look terrible. I'm fine. I'll keep watch for a while. Where's my wand?"

Neither Chris nor Sian answered, they merely looked at me.

"Where's my wand, Sian?"

She and Chris looked at each other; Sian looked nervous, frightened even.

"Kiara ... "

 _"Where's my wand?"_

She sighed resignedly, then reached down beside the bed and held it out to me.

The holly and phoenix wand was nearly severed in two. One fragile strand of phoenix feather kept both pieces hanging together. The wood had splintered apart completely. I took it into my hands as though it was a living thing that had suffered a terrible injury. I could not think properly: everything was a blur of panic and fear. Then I held out the wand to Sian.

"Mend it. Please."

"Kiara, I don't think, when it's broken like this - "

"Please, Sian, try!"

 _"R-Reparo!"_

The dangling half of the wand resealed itself. I held it up.

 _"Lumos!"_

The wand sparked feebly, then went out. I pointed it at Sian.

 _"Expelliarmus!"_

Sian's wand gave a little jerk, but did not leave her hand. The feeble attempt at magic was too much for my wand, which split into two again. I stared at it, aghast, unable to take in what I was seeing ... the wand that had survived so much ...

"Kiara," Sian whispered, so quietly I could hardly hear her. "I'm so sorry. I think it was me. As we were leaving, you know, the snake was coming for us, and so I cast a Blasting Curse, and it rebounded everywhere, and it must have - must have hit - "

"It was an accident," I said mechanically. I felt empty, stunned. "We'll - we'll find a way to repair it."

"Kiara, I don't think we're going to be able to," said Sian. "Remember ... remember Chrissie? When she broke her wand, crashing the car? It was never the same again, she had to get a new one."

I thought of Wandwick, kidnapped and held hostage by Zira, of Hori, who was dead. How was I supposed to find myself a new wand?

"Well," I said, in falsely matter-of-fact voice, "well, I'll just borrow yours for now, then. While I keep watch."

Sian handed me her wand as Chris put his arm around her, and I left them sitting beside my bed, desiring nothing more than to get away from her.


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: So, here is the next chapter. Just so you know, the next chapter will be about Sian and what her problem is, and if you think the story is pretty dark so far, well it's going to get much darker starting the next chapter, but we'll get to that later. For now, though, enjoy this chapter.**

 **Chapter 21**

 **The Life and Lies of Susan Crighton**

 **KIARA**

The sun was rising: the pure, colourless vastness of the sky stretched over me, indifferent to me and my suffering. I sat down in the tent entrance and took a deep breath of clean air. Simply to be alive and watch the sun rise over the sparkling snowy hillside ought to have been the greatest treasure on earth, yet I could not appreciate it: my senses had been spiked by the calamity of losing my wand. I looked out over a valley blanketed in snow, distant church bells chiming through the glittering silence.

Without realising it, I was digging my fingers into my arms as though I was trying to resist physical pain. I had spilled my own blood more times than I could count; I had lost all the bones in my right arm once; this journey had already given me scars to my chest and forearm to join those on my hand and forehead, but never, until this moment, had I felt myself to be fatally weakened, vulnerable and naked, as though the best part of my magical power had been torn from me. I knew exactly what Sian would say if I expressed any of this: the wand is only as good as the wizard. But she was wrong, my case was different. She had not felt the wand spin like the needle of a compass and shoot golden flames at my enemy. I had lost the protection of the twin cores, and now that it was gone did I realise how much I had been counting upon it.

I pulled the pieces of the broken wand out of my pocket and without looking at them, I tucked them away in Mina's pouch around my neck. The pouch was now too full of broken and useless objects to take any more. My hand brushed the old Snitch through the Mokeskin and for a moment I had to fight the temptation to pull it out and throw it away. Impenetrable, unhelpful, useless like everything else Crighton had left behind -

And my fury at Crighton broke over me now like lava, scorching me inside, wiping out every other feeling. Out of sheer desperation we talked ourselves into believing that the Pride Lands held answers, and we convinced ourselves that we were supposed to go back, that it was all some part of secret path laid out for us by Crighton; but there was no map, no plan. Crighton had left us to grope in the darkness, to wrestle with unknown and undreamed of terrors alone and unaided: nothing was explained, nothing was given freely, we had no sword, and now, I had no wand. And I had dropped the photograph of the thief, and it would surely be easy, now, for Zira to find out who she was ... Zira had all the information now ...

"Kiara?"

Sian looked frightened that I might curse her with her own wand, which must have been why Chris was standing beside her, watching me cautiously. She crouched down beside me, two cups of tea trembling in her hands and something bulky under her arm.

"Thanks," I said, taking one of the cups.

"Do you mind if we talk to you?" Chris asked. "It's just that Sian has something that might interest you."

I nodded at the ground beside me. Chris and Sian sat.

"Kiara, you wanted to know who the woman in the picture was," said Sian slowly. "Well ... I've got the book."

Timidly she pushed it on to my lap, a pristine copy of _The Life and Lies of Susan Crighton_.

"Where - how - ?"

"It was in Imamu's sitting room, just lying there ... this note was sticking out of the top of it."

Sian read the few lines of spiky, acid-green writing aloud.

" _'Dear Imamu, Thanks for your help. Here's a copy of the book, hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don't remember it. Peter.'_ I think it must have arrived while the real Imamu was alive, but perhaps he wasn't in any fit state to read it?"

"No, he probably wasn't."

I looked down upon Crighton's face and experienced a surge of savage pleasure: now I would know all the things that Crighton had never thought it worth telling me, whether Crighton wanted me to, or not.

"You're still really angry at me, aren't you?" said Sian; I looked up to see her eyes fixed on mine, begging me with them not to be angry with her, and I knew that my anger must have shown on my face.

"No," I said quietly. "No, Sian, I know it was an accident. You were trying to get us out of there alive, and you were incredible. Chris and I would both be dead if you hadn't been there to help us."

I tried to return her strained smile, then turned my attention to the book. Its spine was stiff; it had clearly never been opened before. I riffled through the pages, looking for photographs. I came across the one I sought almost at once, the young Crighton and her beautiful companion, roaring with laughter at some long forgotten joke. I dropped my eyes to the caption.

 _Susan Crighton, shortly after her father's death, with her friend Felitica Femwazz._

I gaped at the last word for several long moments. Femwazz. Her friend, Femwazz. I looked sideways at Chris and Sian, who were still contemplating the name as though they could not believe their eyes. Slowly, they looked up at me.

 _"Femwazz?"_

Ignoring the remainder of the photographs, I searched the pages around them for a recurrence of that fatal name. I soon discovered it, and read greedily, but became lost: it was necessary to go further back to make sense of it all, and eventually I found myself at the start of a chapter entitled _"The Good of the Magical"_. Together, Chris, Sian and I started to read:

 _Now approaching her eighteenth birthday, Crighton left Dragon Mort in a blaze of glory - Head Girl, Prefect, Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, Gold Medal-Winner for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo. Crighton intended, next, to take a Grand Tour with Eleanor Dodge, the dim-witted but devoted sidekick she had picked up at school._

 _The two young women were staying at the Leaky Cauldron in London, preparing to depart for Greece the following morning, when an owl arrived bearing news of Crighton's father's death. Dodge, who refused to be interviewed for this book, has given the public her own sentimental version of what happened next. She represents John's death as a tragic blow, and Crighton's decision to give up her expedition as an act of noble self-sacrifice._

 _Certainly, Crighton returned to the Pride Lands at once, supposedly to "care" for her younger sister and brother. But how much care did she actually give them?_

 _"She was a headcase, that Sara," said Edgar Smethwyck, whose family lived on the outskirts of the Pride Lands at the time. "Ran wild. 'Course, with her mum and dad gone you'd have felt sorry for her, only she kept chucking sheep at my head. I don't think Susan was fussed about her, I never saw them together, anyway."_

 _So what was Susan doing, if not comforting her wild young sister? The answer, it seems, is ensuring the continued imprisonment of her brother. For, though his first gaoler had died, there was no change in the pitiful condition of Sean Crighton. His existence continued to be known only to those few outsiders who, like Dodge, could be counted upon to believe the story of his "ill-health"._

 _Another such easily satisfied friend of the family was Imamu Ibori, the celebrated South African magical historian who has lived in the Pride Lands for many years. John, of course, had rebuffed Imamu when he first attempted to welcome the family to the area. Several years later, however, the author sent an owl to Susan at Dragon Mort, having been favourably impressed by her paper on Human Transfiguaration in_ Transfiguration Today _. This initial contact led to acquaintance with the entire Crighton family. At the time of John's death, Imamu was one of few people in the Pride Lands who was on speaking terms with Crighton's father._

 _Unfortunately, the brilliance that Imamu exhibited earlier in his life has now dimmed. "The fire's lit, but the cauldron's empty," as Ivor Dillonsby put it to me, or, in Edgar Smethwyck's slightly earthier phrase, "He's nutty as squirrel poo." Nevertheless, a combination of tired and tested reporting techniques enabled me to extract enough nuggets of hard fact to string together the whole scandalous story._

 _Like the rest of the wizarding world, Imamu puts John's premature death down to a "backfiring charm", a story repeated by Susan and Sara in later years. Imamu also parrots the family line on Sean, calling him "frail" and "delicate". On one subject, however, Imamu is well worth the effort I put into procuring Veritaserum, for he, and he alone, knows the full story of the best-kept secret of Susan Crighton's life. Now revealed for the first time, it calls into question everything her admirers believed of Crighton: her supposed hatred of the Dark Arts, her opposition to the oppression of Muggles, even her devotion to her own family._

 _The very same summer that Crighton went home to the Pride Lands, now an orphan and head of the family, Imamu Ibori agreed to accept into his home his great niece, Felitica Femwazz._

 _The name of Femwazz is justly famous: in a list of Most Dangerous Dark Wizards of All Time, she would miss out on being in the top three, only because She-You-Know arrived, a generation later, to steal her crown. As Femwazz never extended her campaign of terror to Britain, however, the details of her rise to power are not widely known here._

 _Educated at Uagadou, a school not so famous for its tolerance of the Dark Arts, but still know to have produced a fair share of Dark wizards, Femwazz showed herself quite as precociously brilliant as Crighton. Rather than channel her abilities into the attainment of awards and prizes, however, Felitica Femwazz devoted herself to other pursuits. At sixteen years old, even Uagadou felt it could not longer turn a blind eye to the twisted experiments of Felitica Femwazz, and she was expelled._

 _Hitherto, all that has been known of Femwazz's next movements is that "she stayed with a relative for some months". It can now be revealed that Femwazz chose to visit her great uncle in the Pride Lands, and that there, intensely shocking though it will be for many to hear it, she struck up a close friendship with none other than Susan Crighton._

 _"She seemed a charming girl to me," babbles Imamu, "whatever she became later. Naturally, I introduced her to poor Susan, who was missing the company of girls her own age. The girls took to each other at once."_

 _They certainly did. Imamu shows me a letter, kept by him, that Susan Crighton sent Felitica Femwazz in the dead of night._

 _"Yes, even after they'd spent all day in discussion - both such brilliant young girls, they got on like a cauldron on fire - I'd sometimes hear an owl tapping at Felitica's bedroom window, delivering a letter from Susan! An idea would have struck her, and she had to let Felitica know immediately!"_

 _And what ideas they were. Profoundly shocking though Susan Crighton's fans will find it, here are the thoughts of their sixteen-year-old hero, as relayed to her new best friend (a copy of the original letter may be seen on page 463):_

 _Felitica -_

 _Your point about wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES' OWN GOOD - this, I think, in the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and, yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress upon this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counter-arguments. We seize control FOR THE GOOD OF THE MAGICAL. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Uagadou! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)_

 _Susan_

 _Astonished and appalled though her many admirers and children will be, this letter constitutes proof that Susan Crighton once dreamed of overthrowing the Statue of Secrecy, and establishing wizard rule over Muggles. What a blow, for those who have always portrayed Crighton as the Muggle-borns' greatest champion! How hollow those speeches promoting Muggle rights seem, in the light of this damning new evidence! How despicable does Susan Crighton appear, busy plotting her rise to power when she should have been mourning her father, and caring for her brother!_

 _No doubt those determined to keep Crighton on her crumbling pedestal will bleat that she did not, after all, put her plans into action, that she must have suffered a change of heart, that she came to her sense. However, the truth seems altogether all shocking._

 _Barely two months into their great new friendship, Crighton and Femwazz parted, never to see each other again until they met for their legendary duel (for more, see chapter 22). What caused this rupture? Had Crighton come to her senses? Had she told Femwazz she wanted no more part in her plans? Alas, no._

 _"It was poor little Sean dying, I think, that did it," says Imamu. "It came as an awful shock. Felitica was there in the house when it happened, and she came back to my house all of a dither, told me she wanted to go home the next day. Terribly distressed, you know. So I arranged a Portkey and that was the last I saw of her._

 _"Susan was beside herself at Sean's death. It was so dreadful for the two sisters. They had lost everybody except each other. No wonder tempers ran a little high. Sara blamed Susan, you know, as people will under these circumstances. But Sara had always talked a little madly, poor girl. All the same, breaking Susan's nose at the funeral was not decent. It would have destroyed John to see his girls fighting like that, across his son's body. A shame Felitica could not have stayed for the funeral ... she would have been a comfort to Susan, at least ..."_

 _This dreadful coffin-side brawl, known only to those ew who attended Sean Crighton's funeral, raises several questions. Why, exactly, did Sara Crighton blame Susan for her brother's death. Was it, as Imamu pretends, a mere effusion of grief? Or could there have been some more concrete reason for her fury? Femwazz, expelled from Uagadou for near-fatal attacks upon fellow students, fled the country hours after the boy's death and Susan (out of shame, or fear?) never saw her friend again, not until forced to do so by the pleas of the wizarding world._

 _Neither Crighton nor Femwazz ever seems to have referred to this brief girlhood friendship in later life. However, there can be no doubt that Crighton delayed, for some five years of turmoil, fatalities and disappearances, her attack upon Felitica Femwazz. Was it lingering affection for the woman, or fear of exposure as her once best friend, that caused Crighton to hesitate? Was it only reluctantly that Crighton set out to capture the woman she was once so delighted she had met?_

 _And how did the mysterious Sean die? Was he the inadvertent victim of some dark rite? Did he stumble across something he ought not to have done, as the two young women sat practicing for their attempt at glory and domination? Is it possible that Sean Crighton was the first person to die "for the good of the magical"?_

The chapter ended here and I looked up. Chris and Sian had both reached the bottom of the page before me. Sian tugged the book out of my hands, looking a little alarmed by my expression, and closed it without looking at it, as though hiding something indecent.

"Kiara - "

But I shook my head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside me; it was exactly as I had felt after Chrissie had left. I had trusted Crighton, believed her the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: how much more could I lose? Chrissie, Crighton, the phoenix wand ...

"Kiara." Sian seemed to have heard my thoughts. "Listen to me. It - it doesn't make very nice reading - "

" - yeah, you could say that - "

" - but don't forget, Kiara, this is Peter Meter talking."

"You did read that letter to Femwazz, didn't you?"

"Yes, I - I did." She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands, as Chris nodded his head solemnly. "I think that's the worst bit. I know Imamu thought it was all just talk, but 'For the Good of the Magical' became Femwazz's slogan, her justification for all the atrocities she committed later. And ... from that ... it looks like Ma gave her the idea. They say 'For the Good of the Magical' was even carved over the entrance to Mahali Kuhamisha."

"What's Mahali Kuhamisha?"

"The prison Femwazz had built to hold her opponents. She ended up in there herself, once Ma had caught her. Anyway, it's - it's an awful thought that my mother's idea helped Femwazz rise to power. But on the other hand, even Peter can't pretend that they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and - "

"I thought you'd say that," I said. I did not want to let my anger spill out at them, but I was finding it hard to keep my voice steady. "I thought you'd say 'they were young'. They were the same age as we are now. And here we are, risking our lives to fight the Dark Arts, and there she was, in a huddle with her new best friend, plotting their rise to power over the Muggles."

My temper would not remain in check much longer: I stood up and walked around, trying to work some of it off.

"I'm not trying to defend what my mother wrote," said Sian. "All that 'right to rule' rubbish, it's 'Magic is Might' all over again. But Kiara, her father had just died, she was stuck alone in the house - "

"Alone? She wasn't alone! She had her sister and her brother for company, her Squib brother she was keeping locked up - "

"I don't believe it!" said Sian fiercely. She stood up too. "Whatever was wrong with that boy, I don't think he was a Squib. The woman we knew would never, ever have allowed - "

"The woman we thought we knew didn't want to conquer Muggles by force!" I shouted, my voice echoing around the empty hilltop, and several blackbirds rose into the air, squawking and spiralling against the pearly sky.

"She changed, Kiara, she changed! It's as simple as that! Maybe she did believe these things when she was seventeen, but the whole of the rest of her life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts! Ma was the one who stopped Femwazz, the one who always voted for Muggle protection and Muggle-born rights, who fought She-You-Know from the start and who died trying to bring her down!"

Peter's book lay on the ground between us, so that the face of Susan Crighton smiled doefully at the three of us.

"Kiara, I'm sorry, but I think the real reason you're so angry is that Ma never told you any of this herself."

"Maybe I am!" I bellowed, and I flung my arms over my head, hardly knowing whether I was trying to hold in my anger or protect myself from the weight of my own disappointment. "Look at what she asked from me, Sian! Risk your life, Kiara! And again! And again! And don't expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I'm doing, trust me even though I don't trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!"

My voice cracked with the strain, and we stood looking at each other in the whiteness and the emptiness, and I felt we were as insignificant as insects beneath that wide sky.

"She loved you," Sian whispered. "I know she loved you."

I dropped my arms.

"I don't know who she loved, Sian, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess she's left me in. She shared a damn sight more of what she was really thinking with Felitica Femwazz than she ever shared with me."

I picked up Sian's wand, which I had dropped in the snow, and sat back down next to Chris in the entrance of the tent.

"Thanks for the tea. I'll finish the watch. You get back in the warm."

She hesitated, but recognised the dismissal. She picked up the book and then walked past me into the tent. I looked at Chris, who had not followed Sian, but was studying me closely.

"What?"

"You're still angry with her, aren't you?" Chris asked me steadily. "For what happened to your wand?"

"No, of course I'm - "

"Don't lie!" he snapped. "You can lie to everyone else, Kiara, but not to me!"

"Why does this bother you so much?"

"Because I'm her brother, Kiara! Not by blood, perhaps, but in my heart I feel that way! And I'm telling you this because I care about Sian, Kiara, but you have to loosen up, for I don't know whether it's because you're angry at Ma, or yourself, or both, but Sian doesn't need or deserve yours thrown at her. After all, we'd all be dead now if it wasn't for her; you said so yourself."

"You're right," I said. "But my wand ... the most powerful instrument I had ..."

"I know," said Chris. "But these things happen, you know." He was silent for a few moments, then said, "Oh, and I know you're angry at Ma, Kiara, but do you mind keeping your thoughts about her to yourself for a while?"

"But - "

"Kiara, Sian's still grieving," said Chris sternly. "That's not going to go away overnight."

"But isn't she still angry with - "

"Of course she is! but she's still our mother, Kiara, and Sian still loves her. Remember that."

And with that, Chris gave me a brief smile and went to join Sian inside. I knew that Chris was right about Sian, and that I had to control what I said about Crighton around Sian, no matter how angry I was at her. But I also couldn't help wishing that what Sian said was true: that Crighton had really, truly cared about me.


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: So, this is when the story starts to take a darker turn, which will last throughout the rest of the first part of the seventh book. This is where you find out what's wrong with Sian, and is also when the Phoenix Fire Potion is used. This is also the chapter when a certain someone who left the group a few chapters back comes back. I should also add that this is a multiple POV chapter, which is, I think, involves the most POV changes that I have ever had before in a chapter, just so you know. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this chapter - well, as much as you can enjoy it - and I will update the same time next week.**

 **Chapter 22**

 **The Beginning of Sian's Demise**

 **SIAN**

Sian was in the tent with Chris, as Kiara was sat outside, keeping watch. It had been a few hours since Sian and Kiara had had their argument. Chris was currently by the fire of blue flames that Sian had created in a jar by the table, his back to Sian, who was currently fingering the phoenix pendant as she sat on her book, something she had been doing a lot lately. She always wore it, in memory of her mother, just as her mother wanted her to in her will. Every day since it was given to her, Sian always had it on her, only taking it off before she went to bed or to clean it, and when they took the Polyjuice Potion to go into the Ministry, or when she, Chris and Kiara had gone to the Pride Lands, Sian had it under her coat, so that a piece of her mother could be close to her heart. Ever since Chrissie had left, Sian had taken to pulling out the pendant and look at it, fiddling with it, thinking about all that had happened. She had once used to think of her mother as a wonderful person who would always be there for her whenever she needed her, but now ... All Sian could think of was anger towards her mother, for it was not fair for her mother to leave Sian in this state. Not fair at all. But then again, when was life fair to anyone?

Sighing a heavy sigh, Sian then felt Chris' eyes on her. She knew that he was worried about her, knew that he would do anything in his power to take away her pain and suffering, but she had to be strong and keep her emotions hidden. It was necessary for her to keep her emotions hidden for as long as possible, because for now no one must know of the secret she had been hiding for the last couple of months, a secret she had been keeping since the night Chrissie left ...

Sian then looked up at Chris and returned his smile, and watched him as he turned his attention back to the fire. Once his back was fully turned to her, Sian's smile faded, as she allowed herself to feel the throbbing pain in her heart, pain that had not left her since the Pride Lands, and maybe even before then. Sighing inwardly, she leant backwards on her bunk and picked up her wand, which was lying on a chair beside her bunk.

 _"Lumos!"_ she whispered, and the tip lighted up, but flickered slightly, and as it did so, Sian felt a pain slice through her heart, and this time the pain was far stronger than what she had felt in the Pride Lands, strong enough to remove all the air from her lungs and make her heart stop beating. Sian involuntarily gasped aloud from the pain, her back arching, her arms falling limply to her sides, making her drop her wand, which clattered as it hit the floor, its tip extinguished.

She couldn't breathe; everything around her was misty and grey; she heard Chris calling her name, but to Sian it seemed like he was calling for her through a long tunnel. She had no breath in her lungs to answer and, as her vision became still more fuzzy and blurred, her head hit the pillow and she became still.

 **CHRIS**

Chris watched in horror and disbelief as Sian fell to her pillow and remained still. He ran to her side and started shaking her. "Sian! Sian! Can you hear me?" But her head just lolled from side to side, and the more he took in of her, the more he saw how pale and ill she was; she even looked thinner. He and Kiara, of course, had been noticing the little whimpers and gasps of pain she let out when she didn't think either of them would notice, but never had either of them imagined anything as bad as this happening. How long had this been going on for, Chris asked himself, as he felt Sian's hands, which were as cold as ice. She had to get warm, and quickly. Gently, Chris picked his sister up and carried her to an armchair, gently placing her in it, before grabbing a blanket from her bunk and wrapping it securely around her, like she was a child trying to get warm after falling on ice.

Chris then dashed to the table for Sian's beaded bag. His first thought was to see if Sian had any smelling salts in there, but then he remembered the potion Ma had left him in her will. Opening the bag, he pointed his wand into it and said, _"Accio Phoenix Fire Potion!"_ The bottle flew out of the bag and into his free hand at once.

Chris ran back to Sian and knelt by his sister's side. Unstoppering the scarlet-and-gold-coloured potion, he placed it on the table in front of them, then helped Sian to sit up and got her mother open a little wider. Chris then poured a drop of the Phoenix Fire Potion into her mouth.

The effect was immediate: the colour returned to Sian's cheeks, her skin was of a normal temperature and her breathing, once shallow and uneven, became equal and laboured again. Chris watched in amazement and relief as Sian's eyelids started to flicker. Chris touched her cheek and whispered gently, "Sian, can you hear me?"

Sian remained still for a few moments, but Chris quickly sighed in relief as he watched his sister open her eyes.

 **SIAN**

Sian woke to the feeling of warmth. She opened her eyes to find that she was no longer lying in her bunk, but was sitting in an armchair, a blanket wrapped tightly around her. Wondering how she had got here, Sian looked around for an answer, and as her eyes landed on Chris kneeling next to her, staring at her intently with relief shining in his eyes, Sian found her answer.

"Chris?" she murmured, and her brother laughed with relief as he hugged her. Sian returned his hug, not knowing how much she needed to feel the warmth from one of her family until that moment. But Sian knew that it wouldn't last long, knew that Chris would start to ask questions, knew that her secret was about to come out at last.

Chris quickly let go of her, strode over to the table and grabbed something, then came back and held it out to Sian. Looking at it, Sian could see that it was the jar of blue flames, which she took, cupping the jar in her hands and holding it close to her. She smiled at him in gratitude, which Chris returned, but his smile did not last long, for next second it had faded as he started to pace the floor in front of her, and it was then that Sian knew that she would have to confess what was wrong with her.

Yes, her secret was about to come out, for she could see the troubled look on Chris' face, as the troubling thoughts that she couldn't see went dashing through his mind with each turn he took. Sian couldn't believe that she had let her guard down and shown that she was getting weaker: Sian had always been proud, ever since she was little, and she hated people seeing her as a weakling, because she always liked being the girl who stood tall and strong, protecting her family. But then again, she knew that someone was bound to notice something at some point ...

At last, Chris was the first to break the silence. "OK, sister, spill. What's going on with you? Because this isn't the sister I know."

Sian gave a shuddering sigh and knew the time had come: she couldn't deny it and he was no fool. Sian knew that Chris wouldn't like what she had to tell him, but what choice did she have? So she took a deep breath for courage, and said, "I'm dying."

The troubled expression on Chris' face changed quickly to one of mingled shock and disbelief. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before he breathed slowly, "What?"

"I'm dying, Chris," said Sian, in her matter-of-fact manner. "Simple as that."

"How - how long have you known?"

"Do you remember the night Chrissie left and I saw Ma, and Ma turned her back on me?"

Chris' eyes widened in shock.

"Since then?"

"Yes, and the pain hasn't gone. If anything, it's only gotten stronger, to the point where it now hurts for me to even breathe, and it seems to be tearing through my heart."

"Good God!" Chris whispered. Then, turning to Sian, his eyes narrowed, he asked her, wait a minute, "Wait a minute - when were you going to tell us this, exactly?"

Sian said nothing. She did not know how to answer his question, but she didn't need to, for Chris ran his fingers through his hair and exclaimed, "For God's sake, Sian! It's not that hard to ask for help, you know!"

"I know, Chris," said Sian, "but you know how proud I am - "

"Even the proudest of people need to let their guard down sometimes!"

Sian sighed and nodded. "OK, you're right. I'm sorry. I should have told you in the first place."

Chris nodded, his expression annoyed. "So, what's going to happen to you, anyway?"

"Well, this is all guesswork," Sian said, "but over the next few months, I'm going to get weaker and weaker, and I might end up being paralysed from the waist down - I'm guessing about the paralysed part. Anyhoo, the point is is that I'm starting to lose my powers along with some other stuff along the way, too."

"What are you saying, Sian?" Chris asked, his hands shaking, the troubled look back.

Sian looked at her brother directly in the eye and said, "What I'm saying, Rickers, is that my magic is beginning to fail me. Even the most simplest of spells that I perform hurts me, and they're incredibly feeble."

"So - Ma did this to you?" Chris said slowly, and Sian could tell that he was trying to make sense of what she was telling him. Sian nodded, keeping back the tears that she knew were waiting to fall at bay. Chris shook his head and said, "I can't believe she would do this to you!"

"Neither can I, but I'm sure she has her reasons." But even as she said this, Sian was doubtful of the words she spoke.

"Yeah, but to do this to _you_ , of all people!" Chris burst out angrily, beginning to pace hurriedly again; Sian could practically see the dark thoughts rushing through his head.

Silence fell between them; the only thing that could be heard was Chris' angry footsteps shuffling along the floor. Sian thought carefully about what she had to say, for she didn't know how to voice her thoughts. Finally, she decided to speak, more to stop Chris pacing than anything else.

"Chris, do you know how to do that talking Patronus thing?"

Chris stopped pacing then, clearly taken aback by this unexpected question. "I think so. Why?"

"It's just that I need you to get in touch with Chrissie for me. Tell her where we are and to come here ASAP. Tell her she'll know where we are as she'll see you waiting for her. But above all else, tell her I need her. If you can't do the Patronus thing, then text her. I assume you have enough battery on your phone to do that?"

"I should think so. I've had it switched off ever since we left the Manor." Chris then nodded, and said, "I'll do that for you. Anything else?"

"Yes. Tell Chrissie - and you must do this as well, by the way - that she has to promise not to tell Kiara about my current position."

"We can't keep this from Kiara forever, S.D."

"I know we can't, but we know what Kiara's like when someone close to her dies. I will tell her eventually, I promise you, but not yet."

"All right, I promise," said Chris reluctantly after a moment, "and I'll tell Chrissie to promise too. Do you need anything else from me right now?"

"No, I'm all right for now. You know what you have to do, so get on with it."

Chris nodded and walked out of the tent.

Once he was gone, sadness steeled itself back around Sian's heart, her gaze directed at the blue flames in the jar, as one of her hands reached under the blanket and took out the phoenix pendant, holding it above the flames, idly stroking her thumb over it, lost in thought. At last, she breathed aloud, _"I hope you can see me, Ma. I hope you're happy with seeing the pain you've caused me, because thanks to you, I'm slowly fading away, and it's all your fault!"_

 **SUSAN CRIGHTON**

In the temple of Kandrakar, its white marble walls shining blindly in the light cast by the sun, surrounded by wispy white clouds, there is a Realm Room, allowing any member of the Council to see into any of the realms the Oracle watches at any given time, and it was in this room that Susan Crighton stood, watching her most cherished child with tears rolling down her cheeks, her heart breaking for her baby girl, as self-loathing and regret filled her heart and mind.

How could she have done this to her child? Sian, her daughter, who had always remained fierce, loyal and true to her, and whose heart she had broken, all because Susan had not been the mother that she had always been to Sian. Sian had needed her, and what had she done? Turned her back on her because she believed in her own stupid, foolish intuition and head, instead of listening to her heart, as well as the Oracle. So she let her daughter's harsh, bitter words stab at her heart as they came, knowing that she deserved each and every one of them, for once again, she had let her family down, and once again, she was only to blame.

"Proud of yourself, Susan?" said a powerful, cold voice from behind her. Spinning around, Susan saw the Oracle, his normally kind features stern, his eyes a fierce storm of restrained anger, as the light shining off his bald plate gave him a halo affect.

"Oracle," said Susan slowly, "... I swear, I wanted none of - "

"But it has happened, Susan! I warned you, did I not, when I was telling you of the prophecy, to stay, to understand, because Sian's fate rests in your hands?"

"Yes, sir, you did," said Crighton, tears streaming down her cheeks. "But I thought I was doing what was best - "

"Like you always do!" the Oracle yelled. "Susan, you always think things through carefully, this much is true, but you never think about the repercussions of your actions. No wonder Kiara's ashamed of you!" The Oracle breathed deeply for a moment, then continued, "You know what this means for Sian, of course?"

"Yes, I know she's dying of a broken heart," Susan said sadly, not daring to meet the Oracle's eyes as she said those words, as her heart broke with each word she spoke for her dying daughter.

"She's not just dying from a broken heart, Susan," said the Oracle in a gentler voice, and something in his tone made Susan look up: his expression was still stony, his gaze angry, but Susan was not afraid to look him in the eye now.

"She's not? But ... what else is she dying from, then, Oracle?" said Susan, nervous and scared now as to what he had to tell her.

"It's her soul, Susan," he told her, a sad shadow falling across his eyes. "The pain is not just heart deep, it's soul deep, too. I'm sorry, Susan, but Sian's soul is beginning to crack."

Susan's hands flew to her mouth. Of all the things she pictured the Oracle telling her, this was not one of them. Lowering her hands slowly, she said to him, "There has to be something I can do to save her."

"There is," said the Oracle calmly.

"What is it?"

"That, Susan, is something you must discover for yourself," said the Oracle, his eyes a blazing fury once more.

"But, sir - " Susan began, shocked by his reaction.

"You brought this upon yourself, Susan!" the Oracle shouted. "This is something you must learn on your own! The answer is inside you, you just have to find it! If you do, you've saved Sian. If not, then congratulations, Susan, you've just gone and killed your own daughter!"

The Oracle left. Susan turned back to the Earth Realm Sphere, to see Sian in exactly the same spot she was in when the Oracle entered, with a blanket wrapped tightly around her, gazing hopelessly at the phoenix pendant in her hands. As she watched, tears gushed down Susan's cheeks as she touched the sphere, wishing, almost, that she could fall through it, as she whispered desperately, "Forgive me, _magi_ ... please forgive me ..."

 **KIARA**

I was sat at the tent's entrance still, still keeping watch, blissfully unaware of all the troubles going on inside the tent and in Kandrakar. Night was falling. Around me, evening birdsong filled the air, as dozens of stars lit up the sky, twinkling like a mass of fireflies. For the first time in many years, I looked up at the stars, studying them carefully, as I let the tranquillity of night rid my mind of anger and worries, simply lost in the beauty of a starry night -

Until Chris came storming out of the tent, that is, drawing my mind off the stars and on to him. He walked right past me and right to the edge of the protective barrier, where he stopped and pulled something out of his pocket. What is he doing? What's going on? I couldn't help but to ask myself as I watched him. I saw something silvery erupt from his wand a couple of times, but he clearly grew frustrated at his efforts, for he then put his wand back and pulled out something else. He was busy with whatever it was for a couple of minutes, before he put the thing back in his pocket, stood there and waited, for what I didn't know.

Minutes passed, and still Chris stood there, waiting, as the sky grew darker; where Chris was stood, I could see that he had taken out his wand again and lit it.

More time passed. Then, suddenly, Chris stiffened up. He must have seen something. Looking more carefully into the darkness, I could see a dark shadow approaching us. As it got close enough to where Chris was stood, he ran out of the protective barrier to meet the shadow before I could do anything to stop him. After about a minute, Chris re-entered the barrier, the shadow following him. Both were moving quickly. As the shadow approached, I gasped as I saw the familiar dark-brown haired, tall, freckled, grey-blue eyed figure of Chrissie Dawson. She was back! Before I could say hello, however, she and Chris had walked right past me into the tent, their faces set, Chrissie looking slightly nervous.

The flap closed behind them, blocking me out, it seemed to me. I didn't know how to take it, being shut out, but I didn't let it effect me, because I knew that it wasn't going to be for long. I deliberated if I should go in, but then thought better of it, arguing that if Chris and Chrissie would have wanted me in there with them, that they would have told me. Besides, whatever was going on couldn't be that bad, could it?

 **CHRISSIE**

Chrissie followed Chris inside the tent, purposefully yet with a slight feeling of nervousness as to how Sian would greet her. After all, she had parted with her sister on bad terms - not to mention Kiara, who she had said some terrible things to, truths that had come out because she was angry, scared and wearing that stupid Horcrux, which for Chrissie only made things a hundred times worse ...

Out of the corner of her eye, Chrissie could see Kiara sitting in the entrance of the tent, keeping watch. She would greet and apologise to Kiara later. Right now, her sister needed her more. Chrissie had been searching for Chris, Sian and Kiara for about a week now, looking in all the places she thought they would be, but everywhere she looked, there was no sign of them. That night, she thought about resting somewhere, until she got a text; she had decided to keep her phone on ever since she had stayed at Sam's, just in case someone wanted to contact her, charging her phone whenever she could. Checking her phone, she saw that the text was from Chris, telling her where he, Sian and Kiara were and that Sian needed her. With a determined air, Chrissie packed her rucksack and Disapparated not long after - having a little help from the Deluminator as to the exact whereabouts of her destination, of course.

And now, here she stood, for the first time in two months, staring at the back of the chair Sian was sat in, nervousness running through her. How would Sian react to seeing her, Chrissie wondered. Angry? Unpleased? Happy? As she was thinking such things, Sian turned around in her chair, looking right at Chrissie, stopping her train of thought. Chrissie held her breath; this was the moment she had feared. How would Sian accept her? But Chrissie needn't have worried, for she saw Sian smile gently and held out her hand for her. Chrissie ran to Sian at once, relief overwhelming every other feeling.

Kneeling down by her sister, Chrissie took in every detail of Sian's face that she had been missing for two months, yet Chrissie could tell that something was off about her: Sian's colour was off, her hands were cold and, despite how one of her hands was clutching a jar of blue flames, she was shivering.

"Sian," Chrissie whispered, "what happened to you?"

Sian closed her eyes, both in relief at having Chrissie back, as well as in pain of what she had to say, opened them slowly and, looking directly at Chrissie, she told her, "I'm dying, Chrissie."

Chrissie's eyes widened slightly. She couldn't think straight. After about a minute, Chrissie said, "What d'you mean? How did this happen?"

Sian sighed painfully and said, "The night you left, about a minute after I had come back in here after calling after you, in fact, Ma showed up. After all this time, she had finally showed up at the precise moment I needed her. But she turned away from me the moment I went to go and hug her."

"Ma did that to you?" Chrissie asked incredulously, shocked and angry that their mother would do that to Sian, of all people!

Sian nodded her head solemnly. "I don't know why she did what she did, but since then a pain has started forming in my chest, growing stronger and stronger with each passing day. I feel as though I'm drowning in misery, Chrissie. I've lost so much already, and ... and I don't know how much more I can lose ..."

Chrissie's heart broke for Sian then as she held her tight, but she was also scared for Sian, for not one of their brothers and sisters had ever seen Sian like this before. Chrissie did not know what to make of it, but she knew that she had to be the strong one now for Sian's sake, for she needed her. Why else would Sian ask Chris to call her and ask for her to come back?

"Sian, listen to me," Chrissie said, once she had let go of Sian, looking her sister in the eye and stroking a few strands of hair out of her face, a familiar act that Sian had used on her whenever she was upset, "I'm back. I'm not leaving you and I am here to assist you and help you with the hunt for Horcruxes."

Sian smiled in relief. "Thank you for saying that, Chrissie. I trust Chris also told you the thing about Kiara?"

"What thing about Kiara?" said Chrissie, looking confused.

"You didn't tell her?" said Sian, rounding on Chris, who was still standing by the tent's entrance.

"I - er - may have forgotten to mention it," said Chris sheepishly. Sian shook her head at him disapprovingly, before turning back to Chrissie.

"I need you to promise me that you will not tell Kiara about my condition. I will tell her myself," Sian added quickly, as Chrissie looked like she was ready to interrupt, "but not just yet."

"But - "

"My body, my life, my death, Chrissie! Not yours!" said Sian, so fiercely that, for a moment, Chrissie saw a familiar spark in Sian's eyes that had not been there in so many months. Sian took a deep breath and went on more calmly, "Besides, Chris has already promised me this."

Chrissie looked at her brother for confirmation, who nodded solemnly. Looking back at Sian, Chrissie said reluctantly, "It looks as though I've got no choice but to promise." Then, after sighing sadly, she added, "Sian, I'm sorry for the way I spoke and treated you the night I left. I should never - "

But Sian just shook her head, smiling sadly. "Chrissie, it doesn't matter. We both know my time on this earth is limited, so let us not waste it by arguing. I'm just glad you're back, and that you're safe."

Chrissie felt relief swell within her as she dropped her head on to her sister's lap, relishing the comfort that Sian gave her by the simple act of stroking her hair as she cried. And for a time, those two sisters, both different in appearance and mind, cried tears of joy, sadness, relief and fear together, the world around them forgotten.


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: OK, so when the Horcrux possesses Chrissie, only Sian and Kiara show up. This is because of Chrissie's worries that Kiara is more worthy of being Sian's sister, as well as her being worried that Sian loves Kiara more than her as a sister. I know I'm spoiling this a bit for you now, but it's important that you understand this for later on. Enjoy this chapter.**

 **Chapter 23**

 **The Silver Lion**

 **KIARA**

When I felt that it was finally safe to come inside, it was to find Chris, Sian and Chrissie sat together by the fire, talking and laughing comfortably. I noticed that Sian and Chrissie's eyes were red; I figured that they had had a rather tearful reunion, which surprised me, because I thought that Sian would have been screaming at Chrissie, but given her current state I don't think Sian had the strength to yell at her.

I walked over to them and sat down next to Chrissie, who looked at me, her smile fading. I put my hand on her shoulder and said, "It's good to have you back, Chrissie."

Chrissie's smile came back. "Thanks, Kiara."

And that was all that was said between us. There would be time for us to know where Chrissie had been and how she had come to find us in time. That night, though, was spent with good food, company and laughter. Even Sian chimed in with the conversation when she wanted to. I went to bed late that night and got very little sleep, due to the fact that Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I had been up for most of the night talking and laughing, so needless to say, my mind was abuzz with joy at the fact that Chrissie was back, making it very hard for me to get to sleep, leaving me very tired when I got up the next morning.

The next morning, the four of us Disapparated on to frozen covered earth with leaves surrounded by a fresh mass of trees.

"Where are we?" I asked, as Sian opened the beaded bag and began tugging out tent poles.

"The Forest of Dean," she said. "I don't know why, it just came to - "

But Sian stopped, and suddenly staggered against Chris, who caught her, clutching her tightly. Chrissie ran to them. I was about to, too, when Chris said, his free hand up in the air right in front of me, stopping me, "She'll be all right, Kiara. Sian doesn't want everyone fussing over her."

"But - "

"No, Kiara!" Chris said forcefully, sending me back a step or two. Chris closed his eyes, sighed deeply, opened them again and said, "I'm sorry, Kiara. I think the chill's getting to her a bit. Let's pitch the tent quickly so that we can get warm."

What Chris said to me was rather odd, but as I had no other theory about Sian's stumble, I let it slide.

As I said before, here, too, snow lay on the trees all around and it was bitterly cold, but we were at least protected from the wind. We spent most of the day inside the tent, huddled for warmth round the useful bright blue flames that Sian was so adept at producing, and which could be scooped up and carried around in a jar. I felt as though I was recuperating from some brief but severe illness, an impression reinforced by Sian's solicitousness. That afternoon fresh flakes drifted down upon us, so that even our sheltered clearing had a fresh dusting of powdery snow.

After two nights of little sleep, my senses seemed more alert than usual. Mine, Chris and Sian's escape from the Pride Lands had been so narrow that Zira seemed somehow closer than before, more threatening. As darkness drew in again, I refused all of Chris, Sian and Chrissie's offers to keep watch and told them to go to bed, especially Sian. Her wobble that morning had thrown me and I was scared for her.

I moved an old cushion into the tent mouth and sat down, wearing all the sweaters I owned but, even so, I was still shivery. The darkness deepened with the passing hours until it was virtually impenetrable. I was on the point of taking out the Scallywag's Map, so as to watch the other Dawsons for a while, before I remembered that it was the Christmas holidays and that they would be back at Dawson Manor.

Every tiny movement seemed magnified in the vastness of the forest. I knew that it must be full of living creatures, but I wished they would all remain still and silent so that I could separate their innocent scurryings and prowlings from noises that might proclaim other, sinister, movements. I remembered the sound of a cloak slithering over dead leaves many years ago, and at once I thought I heard it again before I mentally shook myself. Our protective enchantments had worked for weeks: why should they break now? And yet I could not throw off the feeling that something was different tonight.

Several times I jerked upright, my neck aching because I had fallen asleep, slumped at an awkward angle against the side of the tent. The night reached such a depth of velvety blackness that I might have been suspended in limbo between Disapparition and Appartition. I had just held up a hand in front of my face to see whether I could make out my fingers when it happened.

A bright silver light appeared right ahead of me, moving through the trees. Whatever the source, it was moving soundlessly. The light seemed simply to drift towards me.

I jumped to my feet, my voice frozen in my throat, and I raised Sian's wand. I screwed up my eyes as the light became blinding, the trees in front of it pitch black in silhouette, and still the thing came closer ...

And then the source of the light stepped out from behind an oak. It was a silver-white lion, moon-bright and dazzling, picking his way over the ground, still and silent, and leaving no paw prints in the fine powdering of snow. He stepped towards me, his handsome head in the middle of a long, silken mane held high.

I stared at the creature, filled with wonder, not at his strangeness, but at his inexplicable familiarity. I felt that I had been waiting for him to come, but that I had forgotten, until this moment, that we had arranged to meet. My impulse to shout for Chris, Sian and Chrissie, which had been so strong a moment ago, had gone. I knew, I would have staked my life on it, that he had come for me, and me alone.

We gazed at each other for several long moments and then he turned and walked away.

"No," I said, and my voice was cracked with lack of use. "Come back!"

He continued to step deliberately through the trees, and soon his brightness was striped by their thick, black trunks. For one trembling second I hesitated. Caution murmured: it could be a trick, a lure, a trap. But instinct, overwhelming instinct, told me that this was not Dark Magic. I set off in pursuit.

Snow crunched beneath my feet, but the lion made no noise as he passed through the trees, for he was nothing but light. Deeper and deeper into the forest he led me, and I walked quickly, sure that when he stopped, he would allow me to approach him properly. And then he would speak, and the voice would tell me what I needed to know.

At last, he came to a halt. He turned his handsome head towards me once more, and I broke into a run, a question burning within me, but as I opened my lips to ask it, he vanished.

Though the darkness had swallowed him whole, his burnished image was still imprinted on my retinas; it obscured my vision, brightening when I lowered my eyelids, disorientating me. Now fear came: his presence had meant safety.

 _"Lumos!"_ I whispered, and the wand-tip ignited.

The imprint of the lion faded away with every blink of my eyes as I stood there, listening to the sounds of the forest, to distant crackles of twigs, soft swishes of snow. Was I about to be attacked? Had he enticed me into an ambush? Was I imagining that somebody stood beyond the reach of wandlight, watching me?

I held the wand higher. Nobody ran out at me, no flash of green light burst from behind a tree. Why, then, had he led me to this spot?

Something gleamed in the light of the wand and I spun about, but all that was there was a small, frozen pool, its cracked, black surface glittering as I raised the wand higher to examine it.

I moved forwards rather cautiously and looked down. The ice reflected my distorted shadow, and the beam of wandlight, but deep below the thick, misty grey carapace, something else glinted. A great silver cross ...

My heart skipped into my mouth: I dropped to my knees at the pool's edge and angled the wand so as to flood the bottom of the pool with as much light as possible. A glint of deep red ... it was a sword with glittering rubies in its hilt ... the sword of Lion-Heart was lying at the bottom of the forest pool.

Barely breathing, I stared down at it. How was this possible? How could it have come to be lying in a forest pool, this close to the place where we were camping? Had some unknown magic drawn Sian to this spot, or was the lion, which I had taken to be a Patronus, some kind of guardian of the pool? Or had the sword been put into the pool after we had arrived, precisely because we were here? In which case, where was the person who had wanted to pass it to me? Again I directed the wand at the surrounding trees and bushes, searching for a human outline, for the glint of an eye, but I could not see anyone there. All the same, a little more fear leavened my exhilaration as I turned my attention to the sword reposing upon the bottom of the frozen pool.

I pointed Sian's wand at the silvery shape and murmured, _"Accio sword."_

It did not stir. I had not expected it to. If it had been that easy, the sword would have lain on the ground for me to pick up, not in the depths of a frozen pool. I set off around the circle of ice, thinking hard about the last time the sword had delivered itself to me. I had been in terrible danger then, and I had asked for help.

"Help," I murmured, but the sword remained upon the pool bottom, indifferent, motionless.

What was it, I asked myself (walking again), that Crighton had told me the last time I had retrieved the sword? _Only a true Lion-Heart could have pulled that out of the Chest._ And what were the qualities that defined a Lion-Heart? Well, I knew that the symbol of Lion-Heart House is a lion, who are generally known as brave and courageous creatures ...

I stopped walking and let out a long sigh, my smoky breath dispersing rapidly upon the frozen air. I knew what I had to do. If I was honest with myself, I had thought it might come to this from the moment I had spotted the sword through the ice.

I glanced around at the surrounding trees again, but was convinced, now, that nobody was going to attack me. They had had their chance as I walked alone through the forest, had had plenty of opportunity as I examined the pool. The only reason to delay at this point was because the immediate prospect was so deeply uninviting.

With fumbling fingers I started to remove my many layers of clothing. Where "bravery" entered this, I thought ruefully, I was not entirely sure, unless it counted as brave that I wasn't diving in there with all my clothes on.

An owl hooted somewhere as I stripped off, and I thought with a pang of Harold. I was shivering now, my teeth chattering horribly, and yet I continued to strip off until at last I stood there in my underwear, barefooted in the snow. I placed the pouch containing my wand, my father's letter, the shard of Pumbaa's mirror and the old Snitch on top of my clothes, then I pointed Sian's wand at the ice.

 _"Diffindo!"_

It cracked with a sound like a bullet in the silence: the surface of the pool broke and chunks of dark ice rocked on the ruffled water. As far as I could judge, it was not deep, but to retrieve the sword I would have to submerge myself completely.

Contemplating the task ahead would not make it easier or the water warmer. I stepped to the pool's edge and placed Sian's wand on the ground, still lit. Then, trying not to imagine how much colder I was about to become or how violently I would soon be shivering, I jumped.

Every pore of my body screamed in protest: the very air in my lungs seemed to freeze solid as I was submerged to my shoulders in the frozen water. I could hardly breathe; trembling so violently the water lapped over the edges of the pool, I felt for the blade with my numb feet. I only wanted to dive once.

I put off the moment of total submersion from second to second, gasping and shaking, until I told myself that it must be done, gathered all my courage and dived.

The cold was agony: it attacked me like fire. My brain itself seemed to have frozen as I pushed through the dark water to the bottom and reached out, groping for the sword. My fingers closed around the hilt; I pulled it upwards.

Then something closed tight around my neck. I thought of water weeds, though nothing had brushed me as I dived, and I raised my empty hand to free myself. It was not weed: the chain of the Horcrux had tightened and was slowly constricting my wind pipe.

I kicked out wildly, trying to push myself back to the surface, but I merely propelled myself into the rocky side of the pool. Thrashing, suffocating, I scrabbled at the strangling chain, my frozen fingers unable to loosen it, and now little lights were popping inside my head, and I was going to drown, there was nothing left, nothing I could do, and the arms that closed around my chest were surely Death's ...

Choking and retching, colder than I had ever been in my life, I came to, face down in the snow. Somewhere close by, another person was panting and coughing and staggering around. Sian had come again (I could tell that it was not Chris, for the footsteps were lighter, and I would have been embarrassed if he had saved me when I was near enough fully naked), as she had come when the snake attacked ... yet it did not sound like her, judging by the ungraceful, uncertain footsteps ...

I had no strength to lift my head and see my saviour's identity. All I could do was raise a shaking hand to my throat and fell the place where the locket had cut tightly into my throat. It was gone: someone had cut me free. Then a panting voice spoke from over my head.

"Are - you - _mental_?"

Nothing but the shock of hearing that voice could have given me the strength to get up, because of all the people I expected to rescue me, Chrissie was not one of them. Shivering violently, I staggered to my feet. There before me Chrissie stood, fully dressed but drenched to the skin, her hair plastered to her face, the sword of Lion-Heart clutched in one hand and the Horcrux dangling from its broken chain in the other.

"Why the _hell_ ," panted Chrissie, holding up the Horcrux, which swung backwards and forwards on its shortened chain in some parody of hypnosis, "didn't you take this thing off before you dived?"

I could not answer. The silver lion was nothing, nothing compared to having Chrissie be my rescuer, I could not believe it. Shuddering with cold, I caught up the pile of clothes still lying at the water's edge and began to pull them on. As I dragged sweater after sweater over my head, I stared at Chrissie, half expecting her to turn into Sian every time I lost sight of her, and yet it had to be her: she had just dived into the pool, she had saved my life.

"It was y-you?" I said at last, my teeth chattering, my voice weaker than usual due to my near-strangulation.

"Well, yeah," said Chrissie, looking slightly confused.

"Y-you cast that lion?"

"What? No, of course not! How could I, seeing as I've been inside the tent when it was cast? I thought it was you doing it!"

"My Patronus is a lioness."

"Oh yeah. I thought it looked different. The mane."

I put Mina's pouch around my neck, pulled on a final sweater, stooped to pick up Sian's wand and faced Chrissie again.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I had just woken up when I heard you shout at something. I looked at the mouth of the tent and saw you running off. It startled me, so I quickly put on my jacket and came after you."

Chrissie then looked down at her hands. She seemed momentarily surprised to see the things she was holding.

"Oh yeah; I got it out," she said, rather unnecessarily, holding up the sword for my inspection. "That's why you jumped in, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "But I don't understand. However did you find us the other day?"

"Long story, I'll explain later," said Chrissie. "Did you see who conjured the Patronus, by the way?"

"No, they kept themselves hidden. Did you see anyone?"

"No," said Chrissie. "I - "

But she hesitated, glancing at two trees growing close together some yards away.

" - I did think I saw something move over there, but I was running to the pool at the time, because you'd gone in and you hadn't come up, so I wasn't going to make a detour to - hey!"

I was already hurrying to the place Chrissie had indicated. The two oak trees grew close together; there was a gap of only a few inches between the trunks at eye-level, an ideal place to see, but not be seen. The ground around the roots, however, was free of snow and I could see no sign of footprints. I walked back to where Chrissie stood waiting, still holding the sword and the Horcrux.

"Anything there?" Chrissie asked.

"No," I said.

"So how did the sword get in that pool?"

"Whoever cast the Patronus must have put it there."

We both looked at the ornate silver sword, its rubied hilt glinting a little in the light from Sian's wand.

"You reckon this is the real one?" asked Chrissie.

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?" I said.

The Horcrux was still swinging from Chrissie's hand. The locket was twitching slightly. I knew that the thing inside it was agitated again. It had sensed the presence of the sword and had tried to kill me rather than let me possess it. Now was not the time for long discussions; now was the moment to destroy the locket once and for all. I looked around, holding Sian's wand high, and saw the place: a flattish rock lying in the shade of a sycamore tree.

"Come here," I said, and I led the way, brushed snow from the rock's surface and held out my hand for the Horcrux. When Chrissie offered the sword, however, I shook my head.

"No, you should do it."

"Me?" said Chrissie, looking shocked.

"Because you got the sword out of the pool. I think it's supposed to be you."

I was not being kind or generous. As certainly as I had known that the lion was benign, I knew that Chrissie had to be the one to wield the sword. Crighton had at least taught me something about certain kinds of magic, of the incalculable power of certain acts.

"I'm going to open it," I said, "and you stab it. Straight away, OK? Because whatever's in there will put up a fight. The bit of Maliay in the diary tried to kill me."

"How are you going to open it?" asked Chrissie. She looked terrified.

"I'm going to ask it to open, using Parseltongue," I said. The answer came so readily to my lips that I thought that I had always known it, deep down: perhaps it had taken my recent encounter with Namzo to make me realise it. I looked down at the serpentine "S", inlaid with glittering green stones. It was easy to visualise it as a miniscule snake, curled upon the cold rock.

"No!" said Chrissie. "No, don't open it! I'm serious!"

"Why not?" I asked. "Let's get rid of the damn thing, it's been months - "

"I can't, Kiara, I'm serious - you do it - "

"But why?"

"Because the thing's bad for me!" said Chrissie, backing away from the locket on the rock. "I can't handle it! I'm not making excuses, Kiara, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affected you, Chris and Sian, it made me think stuff, stuff I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse, I can't explain it, and then I'd take it off and get my head on straight again, and then I'd have to put the effing thing back on - I can't do it, Kiara!"

She had backed away, the sword dragging at her side, shaking her head.

"You can do it," I said, "you can! You've just got the sword, I know it's supposed to be you who uses it. Please, just get rid of it, Chrissie."

The sound of her name seemed to act like a stimulant. Chrissie swallowed, then, still breathing hard, she moved back towards the rock.

"Tell me when," she croaked.

"On three," I said, looking back down at the locket and narrowing my eyes, concentrating on the letter "S", imagining a serpent, while the contents of the locket rattled like a trapped cockroach. It would have been easy to pity it, except that the cut around my neck still burned.

"One ... two ... three ... _open_."

The last word came as a hiss and a snarl and the golden doors of the locket swung wide with a little click.

Behind both of the glass windows within blinked a living eye, dark and beautiful as Dizra Maliay's eyes had been before she turned them scarlet and slit-pupilled.

"Stab," I said, holding the locket steadily on the rock.

Chrissie raised the sword in her shaking hands: the point dangled over the frantically swivelling eyes, and I gripped the locket tightly, bracing myself, already imagining blood pouring from the empty windows.

Then a voice hissed out of the Horcrux.

 _"I have seen your heart, and it is mine."_

"Don't listen to it!" I said harshly. "Stab it!"

 _"I have seen your dreams, Christina Dawson, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible ..."_

"Stab!" I shouted; my voice echoed off the surrounding trees, the sword point trembled, and Chrissie gazed down into Maliay's eyes.

 _"Least loved, always, by the parents who prefer their firstborn ... pushed aside, now, by your eldest sister who prefers your friend as a sister ... second best, always, eternally overshadowed ..."_

"Chrissie, stab it now!" I bellowed: I could feel the locket quivering in my grip and was scared of what was coming. Chrissie raised the sword still higher, and as she did so, Maliay's eyes gleamed scarlet.

Out of the locket's two windows, out of the eyes, there bloomed, like two grotesque bubbles, the heads of myself and Sian, weirdly distorted.

Chrissie yelled in shock and back away as the figures blossomed out of the locket, first chests, then waists, then legs, until they stood in the locket, side by side like trees with a common root, swaying over Chrissie and the real me, as I had to snatch my fingers away from the locket as it burned, suddenly, white-hot.

"Chrissie!" I shouted, but the Maliay-Kiara was now speaking with Zira's voice and Chrissie was gazing, mesmerised, into its face.

 _"Why return? We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence ... we laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption - "_

 _"Presumption!"_ echoed the Maliay-Sian, who was more beautiful and yet more terrible than the real Sian, reminding me somewhat of Katalina Outsider, though I couldn't explain to myself why: she swayed, cackling, before Chrissie, who looked horrified yet transfixed, the sword hanging pointlessly at her side. _"Who could look at you, who would ever look at you, beside Kiara Pride-Lander? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you, compared with the Girl Who Lived?"_

"Chrissie, stab it, STAB IT!" I yelled, but Chrissie did not move: her eyes were wide, and the Maliay-Kiara and the Maliay-Sian were reflected in them, their hair swirling like flames, their eyes shining red, their voices lifted in an evil duet.

 _"Your mother confessed,"_ sneered Maliay-Kiara, while Maliay-Sian jeered, _"that she would have preferred me as a daughter, would be glad to exchange ..."_

 _"Who wouldn't prefer her, what mother would want you? What man would love you? You are nothing, nothing, nothing to her, my true sister,"_ crooned Maliay-Sian, looking haughty and sneering evilly, and both she and the Maliay-Kiara embraced like sisters then, Maliay-Sian looking at Chrissie, grinning at her evilly. Chrissie's face was full of anguish as she raised the sword high, her arms shaking.

"Do it, Chrissie!" I yelled.

Chrissie looked towards me and I thought I saw a trace of scarlet in her eyes.

"Chrissie - ?"

The sword flashed, plunged: I threw myself out of the way, there was a clang of metal and a long, drawn-out scream. I whirled round, slipping in the snow, wand held ready to defend myself: but there was nothing to fight.

The monstrous versions of myself and Sian were gone: there was only Chrissie, with the sword held slackly in her hand, looking down at the shattered remains of the locket on the flat rock.

Slowly, I walked back to her, hardly knowing what to say or do. Chrissie was breathing heavily. Her eyes were not longer red at all, but their normal bluish-grey; they were also wet.

I stooped, pretending I had not seen, and picked up the broken Horcrux. Chrissie had pierced the glass in both windows: Maliay's eyes were gone, and the stained silk lining of the locket was smoking slightly. The thing that had lived in the Horcrux had vanished; torturing Chrissie had been its final act.

The sword clanged as Chrissie dropped it. She had sunk to her knees, her head in her arms. She was shaking, but not, I realised, from cold. I crammed the broken locket into my pocket, knelt down beside Chrissie and placed an arm, cautiously, around her shoulders, pulling her to me. I took it as a good sign that Chrissie did not push me away, and an even better sign when she started crying on my shoulder.

"After you left," I said in a low voice, grateful for the fact that Chrissie's face was hidden, "she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want Chris or me to see. There were loads of nights when none of us spoke to each other. With you gone ..."

I could not finish; it was only now that Chrissie was here again that I finally realised how much her absence had cost us.

"She is like a sister to me, it's true," I went on, and as Chrissie raised her head quickly, looking at me with such anguish that my insides squirmed uncomfortably, I added quickly, "I love her like a sister, and I reckon she feels the same way about me, but I could never replace you, Chrissie, her _true_ sister. I thought you knew."

Chrissie did not respond, but smiled slightly, before mopping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. I then helped her to her feet; her eyes were bloodshot, but otherwise she was composed.

"I'm sorry," she said in a thick voice. "I'm sorry I left. I know I was a - a - "

She looked around at the darkness, as if hoping a bad enough word would swoop down upon her and claim her.

"You've sort of made up for it tonight," I said. "Getting the sword. Finishing off the Horcrux. Saving my life."

"That makes me sound a lot cooler than I was," Chrissie mumbled.

"Stuff like that always sounds cooler than it really was," I said. "I've been trying to tell you that for years."

Simultaneously we hugged each other, my hands gently gripping the still sopping back of Chrissie's jacket.

"And now," I said, as we broke apart, "all we've got to do is find the tent again."

But it was not difficult. Though the walk through the dark forest with the lion had seemed lengthy, with Chrissie by my side the journey back seemed to take a surprisingly short time. I could not wait to wake Chris and Sian, and it was with quickening excitement that Chrissie and I entered the tent together.

It was gloriously warm after the pool and the forest, the only illumination the bluebell flames still shimmering in a bowl on the floor. Chris and Sian were both still asleep, the two of them curled up under their blankets, and neither of them moved until I had said their names several times.

 _"Chris! Sian!"_

The two of them stirred, then sat up quickly, Chris yawning widely, and Sian brushing the hair out of her eyes.

"What's wrong, Kiara? Are you all right?"

"I'm - _we're_ fine, I should say," I corrected hastily.

That woke Chris and Sian up properly: they both took a good look at us, taking in every inch of us.

"What happened to you two? And - Chrissie, where did you get that sword?" said Sian, looking at the sword of Lion-Heart in Chrissie's hand.

"Well, Sian, that's quite a story. But first ..." I turned to Chrissie and asked her, "How did you find us?"

Chrissie's smile faded, as her joy turned to guilt. She sighed heavily and said, "Before I tell you how I found you guys, I should tell you that I wanted to come back the minute I'd Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, and I couldn't go anywhere!"

"A gang of what?" Chris asked.

"Snatchers," said Chrissie. "They're everywhere, gangs trying to earn extra gold by rounding up Muggle-borns, Sack-Brains and blood traitors, there's a reward from the Ministry for everyone captured. I was on my own and I look like I might be school age, they got really excited, thought I was a Muggle-born in hiding. I had to talk fast to get out of being dragged to the Ministry."

"What did you say to them?" I asked.

"Told them I was Harriett Hallmark, a name I had seen in the _Squabbler_ a few weeks back. S'posed to be a Love Destroyer. First person I could think of."

"And they believed that?"

"They weren't the brightest. One of them was definitely part troll, the smell of her."

We all shared a laugh at that, then Chrissie became serious again as she continued.

"Anyway, they had a row about whether I was Harriett or not. It was a bit pathetic to be honest, but there were still five of them and only one of me and they'd taken my wand. Then two of them got into a fight and while the others were distracted I managed to hit the one holding me in the stomach, grabbed her wand, Disarmed the bloke holding mine and Disapparated. I didn't do it so well, Splinched myself again - " Chrissie held up her right hand to show two missing fingernails; Sian gave her a look that clearly said, "What am I going to do with you?" - "and I came out miles from where you were. By the time I got back to that bit of riverbank where we'd been ... you'd gone."

"But how ever did you find us, Chrissie?" Sian asked.

Chrissie pulled a small silver object from her jeans pocket.

"This."

"The Deluminator?"

"It just doesn't turn the lights on and off," said Chrissie. "I don't know how it works or why it happened then and not any other time, because I've been wanting to come back ever since I left. But I was listening to the radio, really early on Christmas morning, and I heard ... I heard you."

She looked at Sian.

"You heard me on the radio?" she asked incredulously.

"No, I heard you coming out of my pocket. Your voice," she held up the Deluminator again, "came out of this."

"And what exactly did I say?" asked Sian, her tone somewhat between scepticism and curiosity.

"My name, 'Chrissie'. And you said ... something about a wand ..."

Sian's eyes flickered in surprise. I remembered: it had been the first time Chrissie's name had been said aloud by any of us since the day she had left; Sian had mentioned it when talking about repairing my wand.

"So I took it out," Chrissie went on, looking at the Deluminator, "and it didn't seem different, or anything, but I was sure I'd heard you. So I clicked it. And the light went out in my room, but another light appeared right outside the window."

Chrissie raised her empty hand and pointed in front of her, her eyes focused on something neither myself nor Chris nor Sian could see.

"It was a ball of light, kind of pulsing, and bluish, like the light you get around a Portkey, you know?"

"Yeah," said Chris, Sian and I together, automatically.

"I knew this was it," said Chrissie. "I grabbed my stuff and packed it, then I put on my rucksack and went out into the garden.

"The little ball of light was hovering right there, waiting for me, and when I came out it bobbed along a bit and I followed it behind the shed and then it ... well, it went inside me."

"Sorry?" I said, sure I had not heard correctly.

"It sort of floated towards me," said Chrissie, illustrating the movement with her free index finger, "right to my chest, and then - it just sort of went straight through. It was here," she touched a point close to her heart, "I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me I knew what I was supposed to do, I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Disapparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere. I couldn't see or hear you, because the protective spells around this place work. It wasn't until Chris texted me that I knew - "

Chrissie stopped suddenly, gasped, covered her hands with her mouth and looked horrified with herself. I looked at Chris and Sian: Chris was looking between his two sisters nervously, whilst Sian was glaring stonily at Chrissie. None of them spoke. This made no sense to me. My friends were hiding something from me, but why? What was it the three of them didn't want me to know?"

"Why did Chris text you our location, Chrissie?" I asked her.

Chrissie looked at me, her hands dropping from her mouth slowly, clearly struggling to find the words, but Sian soon came to her rescue.

"Because I told him to." Chris, Chrissie and I all turned to Sian, who was looking right at me. "My phone had run out of battery a few months back, and I was worried about Chrissie and was wondering if she was trying to find us, and seeing as Chris told me that he had had his phone switched off ever since we left the Manor, I saw an opportunity and took it. I told him to tell Chrissie that if she was interested in coming back to us that she would find Chris waiting for her at such and such a spot. And the rest, as they say, is history."

I remained silent when Sian had finished, contemplating all that she had told me. I thought that there was more to it than that, but seeing as my mind could not come up with a clever enough theory, I decided to let it pass and nodded at Sian: she, Chris and Chrissie visibly relaxed at my acceptance of Sian's explanation.

After a moment or two, Chris spoke.

"Well, now that that's all cleared up, would you two care to explain to Sian and I why you're both wet? And why Chrissie just happens to be carrying the sword of Lion-Heart?"

"Well, it started when I saw the lion," I said.

"You saw the what?" said Sian sharply.

Chrissie and I explained what had happened, and as the story of the silver lion and the sword in the pool unfolded, Chris and Sian stared at the two of us intently.

"But it must have been a Patronus!" Sian said. "Couldn't you see who was casting it? Didn't you see anyone? And it led you to the sword! I can't believe this! Then what happened?"

Chrissie then explained how she had watched me jump into the pool and had waited for me to resurface; how she had realised that something was wrong, dived in and saved me, then returned for the sword. She got as far as the opening of the locket, then hesitated, and I cut in.

" - and Chrissie stabbed it with the sword."

"And ... and it went? Just like that?" Sian whispered.

"Well, it - it screamed," I said, with half a glance at Chrissie. "Here."

I threw the locket into her lap; gingerly she picked it up and examined its broken windows.

As Chris got off his bed to examine the broken locket for himself with Sian, I turned to Chrissie.

"Did you say you got away from the Snatchers with a spare wand?"

"What?" said Chrissie, who had been watching Chris and Sian examining the locket. "Oh - oh yeah."

She went over to her rucksack, tugged open a buckle and pulled a short, dark wand out of its pocket. She then came back over to me and said, "Here. I figured it's always handy to have a backup."

"You were right," I said, holding out my hand. "Mine's broken."

"You're kidding," Chrissie said. Looking at my hand, she looked confused as she looked back up at me. "But you've got a - "

I shook my head as Sian got up and approached me. I gave her wand back, then she turned to Chrissie and said, "Glad to see your mind's just as slow as ever, sister," before she turned away to put the vanquished Horcrux into her beaded bag.

Chrissie and I shared a smile at Sian's statement to Chrissie's brain, before she turned to me and said, "So what happened to your wand, anyway? How come you aren't using yours any more?"

"Well, it happened when Chris, Sian and I went to the Pride Lands ..."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 24**

 **Xion Lovedream**

 **KIARA**

I was still quite surprised that Sian was not angry at Chrissie for abandoning us, but whenever I asked her, Chris or Chrissie why this was, they would hastily change the subject. My friends were hiding something from me, that much was clear, but seeing as I had no idea what they were keeping from me, I decided to keep quiet, knowing that the truth would come out in the end. Sian, Chris and I were all glad to have Chrissie back, it seemed, and she appeared to be just as happy to be back with us, providing a fresh source of encouragement for us, especially when she was alone with me, collecting water and searching the undergrowth for mushrooms.

"Someone helped us," she kept saying. "Someone sent that lion. Someone's on our side. One Horcrux down, mate!"

Bolstered by the destruction of the locket, we set to debating the possible locations of the other Horcruxes, and even though we had discussed the matter so often before, I felt optimistic, certain that more breakthroughs would succeed the first. Sian's frequented saddening moments could not mar my buoyant spirits: the sudden upswings in our fortunes, the appearance of the mysterious lion, the recovery of Lion-Heart's sword, and above all, Chrissie's return, made me so happy that I found it increasingly difficult to maintain a straight face whenever Sian was around.

Late in the afternoon Sian told us that she wanted a few minutes to herself, so Chris, Chrissie and I went outside, under the pretence of scouring the bare hedges for non-existent blackberries, which gave us the perfect opportunity to exchange news. Chris and I had finally managed to tell Chrissie the story of our various wanderings, right up to what had happened in the Pride Lands; Chrissie was now filling Chris and I in on everything she had discovered about the wider wizarding world during her weeks away.

"Kara nearly got capture, y'know," she told us.

Chris and I looked at each other, both of us gobsmacked by this information.

"You're kidding!"

"How did that happen, Chrissie?"

"She said She-You-Know's name," Chrissie answered simply. "A bunch of Love Destroyers cornered her, Sam said, but she fought her way out. she's on the run now, just like us." She scratched her chin thoughtfully with the end of her wand. "You don't reckon Kara could have sent that lion?"

"Her Patronus is a lynx, we saw it at the wedding, remember?"

"Oh yeah ..."

We moved further along the hedge, away from the tent and Sian.

"Kiara ... you don't reckon it could've been our mother?"

"Your mother what?"

Chrissie looked a little embarrassed, but said in a low voice, "Ma ... the lion? I mean," Chrissie was watching me out of the corners of her eyes, "she had the real sword last, didn't she?"

Neither Chris nor myself laughed at Chrissie, because we understood too well the longing behind the question. The idea that Crighton was watching over us, despite all she had done to Sian, would have been inexpressibly comforting. Chris was the one to answer.

"No, Chrissie," he said. "After you left, Ma came back in her Animal Spirit form, a phoenix, the same as her Patronus, so it couldn't have been her."

"But Patronuses can change, though, can't they?" said Chrissie. "Todd's changed, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but if Crighton was alive, why wouldn't she show herself? Why wouldn't she just hand us the sword?" I asked.

"Search me," said Chrissie. "Same reason she didn't give it to you when she was alive? Same reason she left you an old Snitch, Chris a potion no one's ever heard of and Sian a book of kids' stories."

"Which is what?" I asked, turning to look Chrissie full in the face, desperate for the answer.

"I dunno," said Chrissie. "Sometimes I've thought, when I've been a bit hacked off, she was having a laugh or - or she just wanted to make it more difficult. But I don't think so, not any more. She knew what she was doing when she gave me the Deluminator, didn't she?" She - well," Chrissie's cheeks burned deep red and she became engrossed in a tuft of grass at her feet, which she prodded with her toe, "she must've known I'd run out of you."

"No," I corrected her. "She must've known you'd come back."

Chrissie looked grateful, but still awkward. I didn't know what to say, so I turned to Chris, who thought quickly, then said, "Speaking of Ma, have you heard what Meter wrote about her?"

"Oh, yeah," said Chrissie at once, "people are talking about it quite a lot. 'Course, if things were different, it'd be huge news, Ma being pals with Femwazz, but now it's just something to laugh about for people who didn't like Ma, and a bit of a slap in the face for everyone who thought she was such a good woman, not to mention all the ridicule and slander our family's come under because of this. Our name means mud at the Ministry these days. Sam reckons it's only a matter of time before Dad gets himself killed or arrested, only don't tell Sian I said that. Anyway, I don't know that it's such a big deal, though. She was really young when they - "

"Our age," I said, just as I had retorted to Sian, and something in my face seemed to decide Chrissie against pursuing the subject.

A large spider sat in the middle of a frosted web in the brambles. I took aim at it with the wand Chrissie had given me the previous night, which Sian had condescended to examine, and had decided was made of blackthorn.

 _"Engorgio."_

The spider gave a little shiver, bouncing slightly in the web. I tried again. The time the spider grew slightly larger.

"Stop that," said Chrissie sharply. "I'm sorry I said Ma was young, OK?"

I had forgotten Chrissie's hatred of spiders.

"Sorry - _reducio_."

The spider did not shrink. I looked down at the blackthorn wand. Every minor spell I had cast with it so far that day had seemed less powerful than those I had produced with my phoenix wand. The new one felt intrusively unfamiliar, like having somebody else's hand sewn to the end of my arm.

"You just need to practice," said Sian, who had approached us noiselessly from behind and had stood watching anxiously as I tried to enlarge and reduce the spider. "It's all a matter of confidence, Kiara."

I knew why she wanted it to be all right: she still felt guilty about breaking my wand. I bit back the retort that sprang to my lips: that she could take the blackthorn wand if she thought it made no difference, and I would have hers instead. But remembering what Chris said about Sian being fragile, and wanting to keep the peace between the four of us, however, I agreed. Chris, Sian and Chrissie shared a small smile, before Sian went back and vanished behind her book once more.

All four of us returned to the tent when darkness fell, and I took first watch. Sitting in the entrance, I tried to make the blackthorn wand levitate small stones at my feet: but my magic still seemed clumsier and less powerful than it had done before. Sian was lying on her bunk reading, Chris was carving wood with an old branch he had found, while Chrissie had taken a small wooden wireless out of her rucksack and started to try to tune it.

"There's this one programme," she told me in a low voice, "that tells the news like it really is. All the others are on She-You-Know's side and are following the Ministry line, but this one ... you wait 'til you hear it, it's great. Only they can't do it every night, they have to keep changing locations in case they're raided, and you need a password to tune in ... trouble is, I missed the last one ..."

She drummed lightly on top of the radio with her wand, muttering random words under her breath. If Chris and Sian were listening to what she was doing, they paid no notice to it. For ten minutes or so Chrissie tapped and muttered, Sian turned the pages of her book, Chris kept carving wood, and I continued to practice with the blackthorn wand.

Finally Sian climbed down from her bunk. Chrissie ceases her tapping at once.

"If it's annoying you, I'll stop!" she told Sian nervously.

"It's fine," Sian told Chrissie, who sighed in relief; noticing that something was going on, Chris put down his tools and joined us.

"We need to talk," Sian told us.

I looked at the book still clutched in her hand. It was _The Life and Lies of Susan Crighton_.

"What?" I said apprehensively. It flew through my mind that there was a chapter on me in there; I was not sure I felt up to hearing Peter's (twisted) version of my relationship with Crighton. Sian's answer, however, was completely unexpected to my ears.

"I want to go and see Xion Lovedream."

I stared at her.

"Sorry?"

"Xion Lovedream. Lincoln's mother. I want to go and talk to her!"

"Er - why?"

She took a deep breath, as though bracing herself, and said, "It's that mark, the mark in _Willow the Writer_. Look at this!"

She thrust _The Life and Lies of Susan Crighton_ under my unwilling eyes and I saw a photograph of the original letter that Crighton had written Femwazz, with Crighton's familiar thin, slanting writing. I hated seeing absolute proof that Crighton really had written those words, that they had not been Peter's invention.

"The top," said Sian. "Look at the top of the letter, Kiara!"

I obeyed. For a moment I had no idea what she was talking about, but, looking more closely with the aid of my lit wand, I saw that Crighton had drawn a tiny version of the same three-lined mark inscribed upon _The Tales of Willow the Writer_ , as did Chris, who had come up behind me to see what all the fuss was about.

"We - what are you - ?" Chrissie began, but Sian cut across her.

"It keeps cropping up, doesn't it?" she said. "I know Kovu said it was Femwazz's wand, but it was definitely on that sign in the Pride Lands, and I don't know how, but something about this mark makes me think that it's been around long before Femwazz came along! And now this! Well, we can't ask Ma or Femwazz what it means - I don't even know whether Femwazz's still alive - but we can ask Ms Lovedream. She was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I'm sure this is important, Kiara!"

I did not answer immediately. I looked into her intense, eager face and then out into the surrounding darkness, thinking. After a long pause, I said, "Sian, we don't need another episode like the Pride Lands. We talked ourselves into going there, and - "

"But it keeps appearing, Kiara! Ma left me _The Tales of Willow the Writer_ , how do you know we're not supposed to find out about the sign?"

"Here we go again!" I felt slightly exasperated. "We keep trying to convince ourselves Crighton left us secret signs and clues - "

"The Deluminator turned out to be pretty useful," piped up Chrissie. "I think Sian's right, I think we ought to go and see Lovedream."

I threw her a dark look. I was quite sure that Chrissie's support of Sian had little to do with a desire to know the meaning of the three-line rune.

"It won't be like the Pride Lands, Kiara," said Chris gently from next to me. "Lovedream told us at the wedding that she's behind you, remember?"

"Chris is right, Kiara," said Chrissie. " _The Mystics'_ been for you all along, it keeps telling everyone they've got to help you!"

"I'm sure this is important!" said Sian earnestly.

"But don't you think, if it was, Crighton would have told me about it before she died?"

"Maybe ... maybe it's something you need to find out for yourself," said Sian, with a faint air of clutching at straws.

"Yeah," said Chrissie sycophantically, "that makes sense."

"No, it doesn't," snapped Sian, "but I still think we ought to talk to Ms Lovedream. A symbol that links Ma, Femwazz and the Pride Lands? Kiara, I'm sure we ought to know about this!"

"I think we should vote on it," said Chrissie. "Those in favour of going to see Lovedream - "

Her hand flew into the air at the same time as Chris'. Sian looked surprised at Chrissie's enthusiasm, but raised her hand nonetheless.

"Outvoted, Kiara, sorry," said Chrissie, shrugging.

"Fine," I said, half-amused, half-irritated. "Only, once we've seen Lovedream, let's try and look fro some more Horcruxes, shall we? Where do the Lovedreams live, anyway? Do any of you know?"

"From what we know, they don't live far from ours," said Sian. "I'm not exactly sure where, but Dad always points to the hills whenever he mentions them. Shouldn't be too hard to find."

When Sian had returned to her bunk, I turned to Chrissie and lowered my voice.

"You only agreed to make yourself look good for Sian."

"You're trying too hard, Chrissie," said Chris, shaking his head at her. "Any more like that, and Sian's going to start getting suspicious."

"All's fair in love and war," said Chrissie brightly, "and this is a bit of both. Cheer up, it's the Christmas holidays, Lincoln'll be home!"

We had an excellent view of Dawson Manor, its shield defending itself from human eyes well and truly gone: Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I looked down upon the ground house from the breezy hillside on which we stood, its white marble shining brightly in the sunlight.

"It's weird, being this near, but not going to visit," said Chrissie.

Sian, who had been staring at her home with such longing in her eyes, turned to Chrissie, confused, and said, "What do you mean? You were there for Christmas, weren't you?"

"I wasn't at the Manor!" said Chrissie, with an incredulous laugh. "Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I'd walked out on you? Yeah, Tanya and Geri would've been great about it. And the others, yeah, they'd have all been really understanding."

"But where have you been, then?" asked Sian, surprised.

"Same and Ferdinand's place. Sandwaves Cottage. Sam's always been one of the decent ones in our family, Sian, you know that. She - she wasn't impressed when she heard what I'd done, but she didn't go on about it. She knew I was really sorry. None of the rest of our family knew I was there. Sam told Dad she and Ferdinand weren't going home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday after they were married. I don't think Ferdinand minded so much. You know how much he detests Christmas carols."

Sian was first to turn her back on Dawson Manor.

"Let's try up here," she said, leading the way over the top of the hill.

We walked for a few hours, with me, at Sian's insistence, hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak. Once or twice I saw Sian stumble, just as she did after we had Apparated, but Chris was always there to help her. I was beginning to worry about Sian, for she never stumbled. Anyhoo, the cluster of low hills appeared to be uninhabited apart from one small cottage, which seemed deserted.

"Do you think it's theirs, and they've gone away for Christmas?" said Sian, peering through the window at a neat little kitchen with geraniums on the window sill.

"Nah. It seems too ... normal a place for the Lovedreams to ever consider living in," Chris speculated.

"Yeah, I'm with Chris on this one, S.D.," said Chrissie. "In the case of the Lovedreams, we'll know which is theirs when we see it. Let's try the next lot of hills."

So we Disapparated a few mils further north.

"Aha!" shouted Chrissie, as the wind whipped our hair and clothes. Chrissie was pointing upwards, towards the top of the hill on which we had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great, white cylinder with a ghostly moon, barely visible, hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. "That's got to be Lincoln's house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!"

"It's nothing like a bird," said Sian, frowning at the tower.

"I believe Chrissie meant a chess rook, Sian," said Chris, "otherwise known as a castle."

Chrissie had walked ahead of us and therefore was first to reach the top of the hill. When Chris, Sian and I caught up with her, panting and clutching stitches in our sides, we found her grinning broadly.

"It's theirs," said Chrissie. "Look."

Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broken-down gate. The first read _"The Mystics Editor: X. Lovedream"_ , the second, _"Pick Your Own Mistletoe"_ , the third, _"Keep off the Dirigible Plums"_.

The gate creaked as we opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, including a bush covered in the orange, radish-like fruit Lincoln sometimes wore as earrings. I thought I recognised a Snargaluff, and gave the wizened stump a wide berth. Two aged crab-apple trees, bent with the wind, stripped of leaves but still heavy with berry-sized red fruits and bushy crowns of white-beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the front door. A little owl with a slightly flattened, hawk-like head, peered down at us from one of the branches.

"You'd better take off the Invisibility Cloak, Kiara," said Sian, "it's you Ms Lovedream wants to help, not us."

I did as she suggested, handing her the Cloak to stow in the beaded bag. She then rapped three times on the thick, white door, which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle.

Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xion Lovedream, barefooted and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightgown. Her long, white, candyfloss hair was dirty and unkempt. Xion had been positively dapper at Sam and Ferdinand's wedding by comparison.

"What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?" she cried, in a high-pitched, querulous voice, looking first at Chris, then at Sian, then at Chrissie, and finally at me, upon which her mouth fell open in a comical, perfect "O".

"Hello, Ms Lovedream," I said, holding out my hand. "I'm Kiara, Kiara Pride-Lander."

Xion did not take my hand, although the eye that was not pointing inwards at her nose slid straight to the scar on my forehead.

"Would it be OK if we come in?" I asked. "There's something we'd like to ask you."

"I ... I'm not sure that's advisable," whispered Xion. She swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden. "Rather a shock ... my word ... I ... I'm afraid I don't really think I ought to - "

"It won't take long," I said, quite disappointed by this less-than-warm welcome.

"I - oh, all right then. Come in, quickly. _Quickly!_ "

We were barely over the threshold when Xion slammed the door shut behind us. We were standing in the most peculiar kitchen I had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that it felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved to fit the walls: the stove, the sink and the cupboards, and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects and birds in primary colours. I thought I recognised Lincoln's style: the effect, in such an enclosed space, was slightly overwhelming.

In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead: I wondered what Lincoln could be doing.

"You'd better come up," said Xion, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and she led the way.

The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace, and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. Though much smaller, and entirely round, the room somewhat resembled the Room of Needs on the unforgettable occasion that it had transformed itself into a gigantic labyrinth comprised of centuries of hidden objects. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface. Delicately made models of creatures I did not recognise, all flapping wings or snapping jaws, hung from the ceiling.

Lincoln was not there: the thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels. It looked like the bizarre offspring of a workbench and a set of old shelves, but after a moment I deduced that it was an old-fashioned printing press due to the fact that it was churning out _Mystics_.

"Excuse me," said Xion, and she strode over to the machine, seized a grubby tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled on to the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clatters. She then faced me.

"Why have you come here?"

Before I could speak, however, Sian let out a small cry of shock.

"Ms Lovedream - what's that?"

She was pointing at an enormous, grey spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.

"It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," said Xion.

"No it isn't!" said Sian.

"Sian," I muttered, embarrassed, "now's not the moment - "

"But Kiara, it's an Erumpent Horn! It's a Class B Tradable Material and it's an extraordinarily dangerous thing to have in a house!"

"How d'you know it's an Erumpent Horn?" asked Chrissie, edging away from the horn as fast as she could, given the extreme clutter of the room.

"There's a description in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_! Ms Lovedream, you need to get rid of it straight away, don't you know it can explode at the slightest touch?"

"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack," said Xion very clearly, a mulish look upon her face, "is a shy and highly magical creature, and it's horn - "

"Ms Lovedream, I recognise the grooved markings around the base, that's an Erumpent Horn and it's incredibly dangerous - I don't know where you got it - "

"I bought it," said Xion dogmatically, "two weeks ago, from a delightful young witch who knew of my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. A Christmas surprise for my Lincoln. Now," she said, turning to me, "why exactly have you come here, Miss Pride-Lander?"

"We need some help," I said, before Sian could start again.

"Ah," said Xion. "Help. Hm." Her good eye moved again to my scar. She seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerised. "Yes. The thing is ... helping Kiara Pride-Lander ... rather dangerous ..."

"Aren't you the one who keeps telling everyone it's their first duty to help Kiara?" said Chrissie. "In that magazine of yours?"

Xion glanced behind her at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth.

"Er - yes, I have expressed that view. However - "

" - that's for everyone else to do, not you personally?" said Chrissie.

Xion did not answer. She kept swallowing, her eyes darting between the four of us. I had the impression that she was undergoing some painful internal struggle.

"Where's Lincoln?" asked Sian. "Let's see what he thinks."

Xion gulped. She seemed to be steeling herself. Finally she said, in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press, "Lincoln is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. He ... he will like to see you. I'll go and call him and then - yes, very well. I shall try to help you."

She disappeared down the spiral staircase and we heard the front door open and close. We looked at each other.

"Well that's a fine way of showing you her support, Kiara," said Chris disapprovingly.

"She's probably worried about what'll happen to her and Lincoln if the Love Destroyers find out I was here," I said.

"Well, I agree with Chris," said Sian. "Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm out of it herself. And for heaven's sake keep away from that horn."

I crossed to the window on the far side of the room. I could see a stream, a thin, glittering ribbon lying far below us at the base of the hill. We were very high up; a bird fluttered past the window as I stared in the direction of Dawson Manor, now invisible beyond another line of hills. My parents and my brother, Kion, were over there somewhere. We were closer to each other today than we had been since Sam and Ferdinand's wedding, but none of them could have no idea that I was gazing towards them now, thinking of them, my family. I supposed I ought to be glad of it; anyone I came into contact with was in danger, Xion's attitude proved that.

I turned away from the window and my gaze fell upon another peculiar object, standing upon the cluttered, curved sideboard: a stone bust of a handsome but austere-looking wizard wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress. Two objects that resembled golden ear-trumpets curved out from the sides. A tiny pair of glittering blue wings was stuck to a leather strap that ran over the top of his head, while one of the orange radishes had been stuck to a second strap around his forehead.

"Look at this," I said.

"Fetching," said Chrissie. "Surprised she didn't wear that to the wedding."

We heard the front door close and a moment later Xion had climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, her thin legs now encased in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot.

"Ah, you have spotted my pet invention," she said, shoving the tray into Sian's arms and joining me by the statue's side. "Modelled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the handsome Rowan Raven-Wings. _Knowledge is to power as wit is to love!_ "

She indicated the objects ear-like trumpets.

"These are Wrackspurt siphons - to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker's immediate area. Here," she pointed at the tiny wings, "a Billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally," she pointed to the orange radish, "the Dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary."

Xion strode back to the tea tray, which Sian had managed to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables.

"May I offer you an infusion of Gurdyroots?" said Xion. "We make it ourselves." As she started to pour out the drink, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, she added, "Lincoln is down beyond Waterstone Bridge, he is most excited that you are here. He ought not to be too long, he has caught nearly enough Plimpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourself to sugar.

"Now," she removed a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, her Wellingtoned legs crossed, "how may I help you, Miss Pride-Lander?"

"Well," I said, glancing at Sian, who nodded encouragingly, "it's about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Sam and Ferdinand's wedding, Ms Lovedream. We wondered what it meant."

Xion raised her eyebrows.

"Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hand of Holiness?"


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 25**

 **The Tale of the Three Sisters**

 **KIARA**

I turned to look at Chris, Sian and Chrissie. None of them seemed to have understood what Xion had said, either.

"The Deathly Hand of Holiness?"

"That's right," said Xion. "You haven't heard of them? I'm not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your cousin's wedding," she nodded at Sian, "who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark witch! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hand - at least, not in that crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest."

She stirred several lumps of sugar into her Gurdyroot infusion and drank some.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I still don't really understand."

To be polite, I took a sip from my cup too and almost gagged: the stuff was quite disgusting, as though someone had liquidised bogey-flavoured All Flavour Beans.

"Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hand of Holiness," said Xion, smacking her lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.

"But what is the Deathly Hand of Holiness?" asked Sian.

Xion set aside her empty teacup.

"I assume you are all familiar with 'The Tale of the Three Sisters'?"

I said "No," but Chris, Sian and Chrissie all said, "Yes."

Xion nodded gravely.

"Well, well, Miss Pride-Lander, the whole thing starts with 'The Tale of the Three Sisters' ... I have a copy somewhere ..."

She glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books, but Sian said, "I've got a copy, Ms Lovedream, I've got it right here."

And she pulled out _The Tales of Willow the Writer_ from the small beaded bag.

"The original?" enquired Xion sharply, and when Sian nodded, she said, "Well then, why don't you read it aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand."

"Er ... all right," said Sian nervously, but before she opened the book she said, more confidently to Chrissie, "First of all, I'll be reading this in its original version, Chrissie, not the one our mother read." Then, turning to me, she added, "And second of all, Kiara, don't be surprised to hear that Death is a woman in this fairy tale, OK?"

I have to admit, when she said that, it did surprise me. "Wait, Death's a _woman_? But ... I always thought that Death was - "

" - a man?" Sian finished for me. I nodded, and she nodded back at me and said, "Yes, we all assume Death to be a masculine symbol of terror, don't we? But I think the point that Willow is trying to make here is, seeing as it is a mother who brings us into this world, surely it makes sense, therefore, that it is a mother who comforts us as we are leaving it?"

I was stumped, floored by this theory that I had never considered before. Sian smiled at my reaction before she opened the book, the symbol that we were investigating heading the top of the page, gave a little cough and began to read.

 _"'There were once three sisters who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the sisters reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these sisters were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure, who was beautiful yet terrifying to look at all at once._

 _"'And Death spoke to them - '"_

"Sorry," I interjected, "but _Death_ spoke to them?"

"It's a fairy tale, Kiara!"

"Right, sorry. Go on."

 _"'And Death spoke to them. She was angry that she had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. She pretended to congratulate the three sisters upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade her._

 _"'So the oldest sister who was a combative woman, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a witch who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there and placed it in a baton, pressing a button in the middle of the baton to make it close before handing it to the oldest sister._

 _"'Then the second sister, who was an arrogant woman, decided that she wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and placed it in the middle of a second baton and gave it to the second sister, and told her that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead. Death told the second sister that in order for her to use the stone inside the baton that she would have to rub the thicker end three times in her hand, and to turn it thrice in hand if she wanted to use it outside the baton, telling her to push the middle of the baton to get the stone out._

 _"'And then Death asked the third and youngest sister what she would like. The youngest sister was the humblest and also the wises of the sisters, and she did not trust Death. So she asked for something that would enable her to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over her own Cloak of Invisibility, telling the second sister to hold the baton in both hands to make herself invisible, and to press the middle of the baton to get the Cloak out of it, and do the same to get the Cloak back in, but being sure to be as close to the Cloak as possible in order to get the Cloak back inside the baton."'_

"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" I interrupted again.

"So she can sneak up on people." said Chrissie. "Sometimes she gets bored of running at them, flapping her arms and shrieking ... sorry, Sian."

 _"'Then Death stood aside and allowed the three sisters to continue on their way and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts._

 _"'In due course the sister separated, each for her own destination._

 _"'The first sister travelled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow with whom she had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Stick of Fear as her weapon, she could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving her enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest sister proceeded to an inn, where she boasted loudly of the powerful wand she had snatched from Death herself, and of how it made her invincible._

 _"'That very night, another witch crept upon the oldest sister as she lay, wine-sodden, upon her bed. The thief took the wand, leaving the baton which had once contained it behind, and, for good measure, slit the oldest sister's throat._

 _"'And so Death took the first sister for her own._

 _"'Meanwhile, the second sister journeyed alone to her house, where she lived alone. On the way, she rubbed the bottom of the baton thrice as Death had instructed. To her amazement and her delight, the figure of the boy she had once hoped to marry before his untimely death, appeared at once before her._

 _"'Yet he was sad and cold, separated from her as by a veil. Though he had returned to the mortal world, he did not truly belong there and suffered. As they journeyed onwards, the second sister became more disheartened, until one day they arrived in a cave where evil spirits lurked, who killed anyone that dared cross their path. Not bothering to run, the second sister dropped the baton and faced her death willingly, knowing that she would be with her beloved again soon enough._

 _"'And so Death took the second sister for her own._

 _"'But though Death searched for the third sister for many years, she was never able to find her; she even sent her eldest daughter, who was just as beautiful and terrifying as she was, to find her. The daughter agreed, and thus was made mortal, but neither she nor her mother could ever have predicted that she would become friends with the third sister, and therefore did not betray her location to her mother. So Death kept looking. It was only when the third sister had attained a great age that the youngest sister finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility, still contained within the baton, and gave it to her daughter. Death, who was there, asked her daughter whether she wished to come back with her, but the daughter declined, saying that she was happy where she was, for she had made a life for herself on Earth. Death understood and gave her daughter her blessing, and then she and the third sister greeted each other as old friends; the third sister went with her gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.'"_

Sian closed the book. It was a moment or two before Xion seemed to realise that she had stopped reading, then she withdrew her gaze from the window and said, "Well, there you are."

"Sorry?" said Sian, sounding confused.

"Those are the objects of the Deathly Hand of Holiness," said Xion.

She picked up a quill from a packed table at her elbow, and pulled a torn piece of parchment from between more books.

"The Stick of Fear," she said, and she drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. "The Resurrection Stone," she said, and she drew a second straight vertical line, drawing a knuckle-like circle in the centre of it. "The Invisibility Cloak," she said, drawing a squiggly line, equal in length as the other two. "The lines reflecting the batons, of course," Xion explained, drawing three outlines around the three lines she had already drawn , "with Death completing," she finished, drawing a big oval at the top, with the bottom line of the oval catching the tops of the three vertical lines and the three outlines, to make the symbol that had so intrigued Sian. "Together," said Xion, "the Deathly Hand of Holiness."

"But there's no mention of the words 'the Deathly Hand of Holiness' in the story," said Sian.

"Well, of course not," said Xion, maddeningly smug. "That is a children's tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognise that the ancient story refers to three objects, or fingers, seeing as we are talking of the Hand, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death."

There was a short silence in which Xion glanced out of the window. Already the sun was low in the sky.

"Lincoln ought to have enough Plimpies soon," she said quietly.

"When you say 'master of Death' - " said Chrissie.

"Master," said Xion, waving an airy hand. "Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer."

"But then ... do you mean ..." said Sian slowly, and I could tell that she was trying to keep any trace of scepticism out of her voice, that you believe these objects - these fingers, the Hand itself - actually exists?"

Xion raised her eyebrows again.

"Well, of course."

"But," said Sian, and I could hear her restraint start to crack, "Ms Lovedream, how can you _possibly_ believe - ?"

"Lincoln has told me all about you, young lady," said Xion, "you are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded."

"Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Sian," said Chrissie, nodding towards the ludicrous headdress. Her voice shook with the strain of not laughing.

"Ms Lovedream," Sian began again. "We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but they exist. But - "

"Ah, but the Third Finger is a _true_ Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Dawson! I mean to say, it is not a travelling Cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like _that_ , Miss Dawson?"

Sian opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking more confused than ever. She, Chris, Chrissie and I glanced at each other, and I knew that we were all thinking the same thing. It so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xion had just described was in the room with us at that very moment.

"Exactly," said Xion, as if she had defeated us all in reasoned argument. "None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would they not?"

She glanced out of the windows again. The sky was now tinged with the faintest trace of pink.

"All right," said Sian, disconcerted. "Say the Cloak existed ... what about the Stone, Ms Lovedream? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?"

"What of it?"

"Well, how can it be real?"

"Prove that it is not," said Xion.

Sian looked outraged.

"But that's - I'm sorry, but that's completely ridiculous! How can I _possibly_ prove it doesn't exist? Do you expect me to get a hold of - of all the pebbles in the world, and test them? I mean, you could claim that _anything's_ real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody's _proved_ it doesn't exist!"

"Yes, you could," said Xion. "I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little."

"So the Stick of Fear," I said quickly, before Sian could retort, "you think that exists too?"

"Oh, well, in that case there is endless evidence," said Xion. "The Stick of Fear is the Finger that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand."

"Which is what?" I asked.

"Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if they are truly to be master of it," said Xion. "Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Ealdygyd the Earthen, after her slaughter of Elderwyn the Evil? Of how Gaia died in her own cellar after her daughter, Hayfa, took the wand from her? Of the dreadful Leith, who took the wand from Bernice Davenport, whom she had killed? The bloody mystery of the Stick of Fear is splattered across the pages of wizarding history."

I glanced at Sian. She was frowning at Xion, but did not contradict her.

"So where do you think the Stick of Fear is now?" asked Chris.

"Alas, who knows?" said Xion, as she gazed out of the window. "Who knows where the Stick of Fear lies hidden? The trail grows cold with Avril and Lei. Who can say which of them really defeated Leith, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us."

There was a pause. Finally, Sian asked stiffly, "Ms Lovedream, does the Paducha family have anything to do with the Deathly Hand of Holiness?"

Xion looked taken aback as something shifted in my memory, but I could not locate it. Paducha ... I had heard that name before ...

"But you have been misleading me, young lady!" said Xion, now sitting up much straighter in her chair and goggling at Sian. "I thought you were new to the Hand Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Paduchas have everything - _everything!_ \- to do with the Hand!"

"Who are the Paduchas?" asked Chrissie.

"That was the name on the sign we saw in the Pride Lands with the mark on it, amongst other things," said Sian, still watching Xion. "Imani Paducha."

"Exactly!" said Xion, her forefinger raised pedantically. "The sign of the Deathly Hand of Holiness, which just so happens to rest on Imani's grave in the Pride Lands, is conclusive proof!"

"Of what?" asked Chrissie.

"Why, that the three sisters in the story were actually the three Paducha sisters, Aishwarya, Chikondi and Imani! That they were the original owners of the Fingers that make the Hand!"

With another glance at the window she got to her feet, picked up the tray and headed for the spiral staircase.

"You will stay for dinner?" she called, as she vanished downstairs again. "Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup."

"Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St Mungo's," said Chrissie under her breath.

I waited until we could hear Xion moving about in the kitchen downstairs before speaking.

"What do you think?" I asked Sian.

"Oh, Kiara," said Sian wearily, "it's a pile of utter rubbish. This can't be what the sign really means. This must just be her weird take on it. What a waste of time."

"I s'pose this _is_ the woman who brought us Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," said Chrissie.

"Not to mention," Chris added, "she's the woman who raised Lincoln."

"You two don't believe it, either?" I asked them.

"No," said Chrissie, as Chris shook his head, "that story's just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn't it? 'Don't go looking for trouble, don't pick fights, don't go messing around with stuff that's best left alone! Just keep your head down, mind your own business and you'll be OK.' Come to think of it," Chrissie added, "maybe that story's why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky."

"What are you talking about?"

"One of those superstitions, isn't it? 'May-born witches will marry Muggles.' 'Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.' 'Wand of elder, never prosper.' You must've heard of them, Kiara. Ma was full of them."

"Once again, sister, you are forgetting that Kiara was raised quite the Muggle way," Sian reminded her, "she was taught different superstitions than we were. I think you're right," she told Chrissie, "it's just a morality tale, it's obvious which gift is best, which one you'd choose - "

The four of us spoke at the same time; Chris and Sian said, "the Cloak," Chrissie said, "the wand," and I said, "the stone."

We looked at each other, half-surprised, half-amused.

"You're _supposed_ to say the Cloak," Chrissie told Sian, then turning to Chris, she added, "but why did you choose the Cloak, Chris? I thought you'd have chosen the wand."

"I chose the Cloak, Chrissie, because with that much power in my hand, I wouldn't trust myself," Chris told her.

"Well answered, Rickers," said Sian, giving him a humble nod.

Not giving up, Chrissie added, "But with the wand you wouldn't need to be invisible. _An unbeatable wand_ , Sian, come on!"

"We've already got an Invisibility Cloak," I said.

"And it's helped us a lot, in case you hadn't noticed!" said Sian. "Whereas the wand would be bound to attract trouble - "

" - only if you shouted about it," argued Chrissie. "Only if you were prat enough to go dancing about, waving it over your head and singing, 'I've got an unbeatable wand, come and have a go if you think you're hard enough.' As long as you kept your trap shut - "

"Yes, but _could_ you keep your trap shut?" said Chris. "That was the point I was making earlier."

"I agree," said Sian. "You know, the only true thing she said to us was that there have been stories about extra-powerful wands for hundreds of years."

"There have?" I asked.

Sian looked exasperated: the expression was so endearingly familiar that Chris, Chrissie and I grinned at each other.

"The Elder Wand, the Deathtwig, they crop up under different names through the centuries, usually in possession of some Dark witch who's boasting about them. Professor Yawn mentioned some of them, but - oh, it's all nonsense. Wands are only as powerful as the wizards who use them. Some wizards just like to boast that theirs are bigger and better than other people's."

"But how do you know," I said, "that those wands - the Elder Wand and the Deathtwig - aren't the same wand, surfacing over centuries under different names?"

"What, and they're all really the Stick of Fear, made by Death?" said Chrissie.

I laughed: the strange idea that had occurred to me was, after all, ridiculous. My wand, I reminded myself, had been made of holly, not elder, and it had been made by Wandwick, whatever it had done that night Zira had pursued me across the skies. And if it had been unbeatable, how could it have been broken?

"So why would you take the stone?" Chrissie asked me.

"Well, if you could bring people back, we could have Pumbaa ... Crazy-Head ... Crighton ... my grandfather, Mufasa ..."

Neither Chris nor Sian nor Chrissie smiled.

"But according to Willow the Writer, they wouldn't want to come back, would they?" I said, thinking about the tale we had just heard. "I don't suppose there have been loads of other stores about a stone that can raise the dead, have there?" I asked Sian.

"No," she replied sadly. "I don't think anyone except Ms Lovedream could kid themselves that it's possible. Willow probably took the idea from the Mirror of Wishes; you know, instead of a mirror to make you immortal, a stone to reverse death."

The smell from the kitchen was getting stronger: it was something like burning underpants. I wondered whether it would be possible to eat enough of whatever Xion was cooking to spare her feelings.

"What about the Cloak, though?" said Chrissie slowly. "Don't you realise, she's right? I've got so used to Kiara's Cloak and how good it is, I never stopped to think. I've never heard of one like Kiara's. It's infallible. We've never been spotted under it - "

"That, dear sister, is, I believe, the entire point of an Invisibility Cloak, or did the meaning of such a thing get lost in translation to you somewhere?"

"Of course it didn't, but all the stuff she said about other cloaks - and they're not exactly ten a Knut - you know, it's true! It never occurred to me before, but I've heard stuff about charms wearing off cloaks when they get old, or them being ripped apart by spells so they've got holes in. Kiara's was owned by her dad, so it's not exactly new, is it, but it's just ... perfect!"

"Yes, all right, but Chrissie, the _stone_ ..."

As she, Chris and Chrissie argued in whispers, I moved around the room, only half listening. Reaching the spiral stair, I raised my eyes absently to the next level and was distracted at once. My own face was looking back at me from the ceiling of the room above.

After a moment's bewilderment, I realised that it was not a mirror, but a painting. Curious, I began to climb the stairs.

"Kiara, what are you doing? I don't think you should look around when she's not here!"

But I had already reached the next level.

Lincoln had decorated his ceiling with seven beautifully painted faces: Chris, Sian, Chrissie, Kestrel, Nikita, Keziah and mine. They were not moving as the portraits at Dragon Mort moved, but there was a certain magic about them all the same: I thought they breathed. What appeared to be fine silver chains around the pictures, linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, I realised that the chains were actually one word, repeated a thousand times in silver ink: _friends_ ... _friends_ ... _friends_ ...

I felt a great rush of affection for Lincoln. I looked around the room. There was a large photograph beside the bed, of a young Lincoln and a man who looked very like him. They were hugging. Lincoln looked rather better-groomed in this picture than I had ever seen him in life. The picture was dusty. This struck me as slightly odd. I stared around.

Something was wrong. The pale blue carpet was also thick with dust. There were no clothes in the wardrobe, whose doors stood ajar. The bed had a cold, unfriendly look, as though it had not been slept in for weeks. A single cobweb stretched over the nearest window, across a blood-red sky.

"What's wrong?" Chris asked, standing up and approaching me as I descended the staircase, but before I could respond, Xion reached the top of the stairs from the kitchen, now holding a tray laden with bowls.

"Ms Lovedream," I said. "Where's Lincoln?"

"Excuse me?"

"Where's Lincoln?"

Xion halted on the top step.

"I - I've already told you. He is down by Waterstone Bridge, fishing for Plimpies."

"So why have you only laid that tray for five?"

Xion tried to speak, but no sound came out. The only noise was the continued chugging of the printing press, and a slight rattle from the tray as Xion's hands shook.

"I don't think Lincoln's been here for weeks," I said. "His clothes are gone, his bed hasn't been slept in. Where is he? And why do you keep looking out of the window?"

Xion dropped the tray: the bowls bounced and smashed. Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I drew our wands: Xion froze, her hand about to enter her pocket. At that moment, the printing press gave a huge bangs and numerous _Mystics_ came streaming across the floor from underneath the tablecloth; the press fell silent at last.

Sian stooped down and picked up one of the magazines, her wand still pointing at Ms Lovedream.

"Kiara, look at this."

I strode over to her as fast I could through all the clutter. The front of _The Mystics_ carried my own picture, emblazoned with the words _Undesirable Number One_ , and captioned with the reward money.

" _The Mystics_ ' going for a new angle, then?" I asked coldly, my mind working very fast. "Is that what you were doing when you went into the garden, Ms Lovedream? Sending an owl to the Ministry?"

Xion licked her lips.

"They took my Lincoln," she whispered. "Because of what I've been writing. They took my Lincoln and I don't know where he is, what they've done to hi,. But they might give him back to me if I - if I - "

"Hand over Kiara?" Sian finished for her.

"Like hell she will," Chris growled, coming to stand protectively in front of me.

"No deal," said Chrissie flatly. "Get out of the way, we're leaving."

Xion looked ghastly, a century old, her lips drawn back into a dreadful leer.

"They will be here at any moment. I must save Lincoln. I cannot lose Lincoln. You must not leave."

She spread her arms in front of the staircase, and I imagined my father doing the same thing in front of my cot if Zira had gone to Pride Castle when I was there that day.

"Don't make us hurt you," I said. "Get out of the way, Ms Lovedream."

"KIARA!" Sian screamed.

Figures on broomsticks were flying past the windows. As the four of us looked away from her, Xion drew her wand. I realised our mistake just in time: I launched myself sideways, shoving Chris, Sian and Chrissie out of harm's way as Xion's Stunning Spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent Horn.

There was a colossal explosion. The sound of it seemed to blow the room apart: fragments of wood and paper and rubble flew in all directions, along with an impenetrable cloud of thick, white dust. I flew through the air, then crashed to the floor, unable to see as debris rained upon me, my arms over my head. I heard the screams of Sian and Chrissie, Chris' yell and a series of sickening metallic thuds, which told me that Xion had been blasted off her feet and fallen backwards down the spiral stairs.

Half-buried in rubble, I tried to raise myself: I could barely breathe or see for dust. Half of the ceiling had fallen in and the end of Lincoln's bed was hanging through the hole. The bust of Rowan Raven-Wings lay beside me with half its face missing, fragments of torn parchment were floating through the air and most of the printing press lay on its side, blocking the top of the staircase to the kitchen. Two white shapes were moving close by, bent over someone, speaking in low whispers to each other. After a minute or two, the three shapes stood up and moved closer to me, and I saw Chris, Sian and Chrissie, each of them coated in dust like a second statue. Sian pressed a finger to her lips.

The door downstairs creaked open.

"Didn't I tell you there was no need to hurry, Terrell?" said a rough voice. "Didn't I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?"

There was a bang and a scream of pain from Xion.

"No ... no ... upstairs ... Pride-Lander!"

"I told you last week, Lovedream, we weren't coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your son for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before - " another bang, another squeal " - when you thought we'd give him back if you offered us proof there are Crumple - " _bang_ " - Headed" _bang_ " - Snorkacks?"

"No - no - I beg you!" sobbed Xion. "It really is Pride-Lander! Really!"

"And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!" roared the Love Destroyer, and there was a valley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xion.

"The place looks like it's about to fall in, Schlusser," said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. "The stairs are completely blocked. Could try cleaning it? Might bring the place down."

"You lying piece of filth," shouted the witch named Schlusser. "You've never seen the Pride-Lander girl in your life, have you? Thought you'd lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you'll get your boy back like this?"

"I swear ... I swear ... the Pride-Lander girl's upstairs!"

 _"Homenum revelio,"_ said the voice at the foot of the stairs.

I heard both Chris and Sian gasp, and I had the odd sensation that something was swooping low over me, immersing my body in its shadow.

"There's someone up there all right, Schlusser," said the second woman sharply.

"It's Pride-Lander, I tell you, it's Pride-Lander!" sobbed Xion. "Please ... please ... give me Lincoln, just let me have Lincoln ..."

"You can have your little boy, Lovedream," said Schlusser, "if you get up those stairs and bring me down Kiara Pride-Lander. But if this is a plot, if it's a trick, if you've got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we'll see if we can spare a bit of your son for you to bury."

Xion gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings: Xion was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.

"Come on," I whispered, "we've got to get out of here."

I started to dig myself out under cover of all the noise Xion was making on the staircase. Chrissie was buried deepest: Chris, Sian and I climbed, as quietly as we could, over all the wreckage to where she lay, Sian stumbling and shaky on her legs, leaning on Chris for support. Taking a good look at her for the first time in weeks, I saw that her eyes looked tired and pained, and was it my dust-clouded eyes, or did she look much thinner than before? Anyway, we made it to Chrissie, and we were trying to prize a heavy chest of drawers off her legs. While Xion's banging and scraping drew nearer and nearer, Sian managed to free Chrissie with the use of a Hover Charm.

"All right," breathed Sian, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs began to tremble; Xion was feet away from us. She and Chris were still white with dust. "Do you trust me, Kiara?"

I nodded.

"OK then," Sian whispered, "give me the Invisibility Cloak. Chrissie, you're going to put it on."

"Me? But Kiara - "

" _Please, Chrissie!_ Kiara, hold on tight to my hand, Chris, take Kiara's other hand, and Chrissie, grab my shoulder."

I held out my left hand as Chris took my right. Chrissie vanished beneath the Cloak. The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating: Xion was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm. I did not know what Sian was waiting for.

"Hold tight," she whispered. "Hold tight ... any second ..."

Xion's paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.

 _"Obliviate!"_ cried Sian, pointing her wand first into Xion's face, then at the floor beneath us: _"Deprimo!"_

She had blasted a hole in the sitting-room floor. We fell like boulders, with me still holding on to her hand for dear life, just like what Chris was doing with mine. There was a scream from below and I glimpsed two women trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling. Sian twisted in mid-air and the thundering of the collapsing house rang in my ears as she dragged me once more into darkness.


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: So, I just want to clear something up for you all to understand. The reason why Sian didn't feel the pain for using magic in the last chapter is because she had an adrenaline rush (or something close to it, as it was a dangerous situation), and therefore it did not hit her then, but it does at the beginning of this chapter. Also in this chapter, Kiara finds out what's going on with Sian. Enjoy this chapter.**

 **Chapter 26**

 **The Deathly Hand of Holiness**

 **KIARA**

I fell, panting, on to grass and scrambled up at once. We seemed to have landed in the corner of a field at dusk; Chris was putting up the protective enchantments in a circle around us instead of Sian, who had fallen to her knees, pale and shaking.

 _"Protego totalum ... salvia hexia ..."_

"That treacherous old bleeder!" Chrissie panted, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and throwing it to me. "Sian, you're a genius, a total genius, I can't believe we got out of that!"

" _Cave inimicium_ ... well, you did tell her it was an Erumpent Horn, didn't you, Sian?" said Chris. "Sian?" he added uncertainly when she didn't answer, turning to face her.

Chrissie and I looked at her, too. Sian was shaking uncontrollably, and before any of us could ask if she was all right, Sian had vomited heavily. As Chris and Chrissie ran to their sister, I looked at the puddle of sick and noticed a darker substance in there, a substance that looked a lot like -

I looked at Chris, who was holding Sian as Chrissie helped lay her down, hoping that he had seen the blood in her vomit, but he was too busy pulling a bottle out of his pocket, that was full of a scarlet and gold potion. It took me a minute to think of what it was, but then I remembered the gift that Crighton had left in her will for Chris - the Phoenix Fire Potion. He unstoppered the bottle and poured a drop in Sian's mouth.

The effect was immediate: the colour returned to Sian's cheeks and her eyes opened, before she moaned and put her hands over her head.

"How do you feel, Sian?" Chrissie asked her gently.

"Dizzy," Sian mumbled, her voice hoarse.

"Let's get the tent up, then, so you can get warm," Chris said, taking the beaded bag from Sian and searching for the tent, Chrissie watching Sian all the while.

Once the tent was erected, Chris carried Sian to her bunk, deposited her gently in it, then searched in the beaded bag for a jam jar. Finding a jar, he opened it and made the bluebell flames that Sian usually did, placed them in the jar and handed it to Sian, who clutched at it like a baby with a bottle, as Chrissie handed her some water.

"Now, back to my question, Sian," said Chris, he and Chrissie both sitting next to Sian, and continuing as though nothing bad outside had just happened. "You told Ms Lovedream what would happen - "

"Yes, I did!" said Sian indignantly. "And now her house has been blown apart!"

"Serves her right," said Chrissie, examining her torn jeans and the cuts to her legs. "What d'you reckon they'll do to her?"

"Oh, I hope they don't kill her!" groaned Sian. "That's why I wanted the Love Destroyers to get a glimpse of Kiara before we left, so they knew Xion wasn't lying!"

"Why hide me, though?" asked Chrissie.

"You're supposed to be in bed with Spattergroit, Chrissie! They've kidnapped Lincoln because his mother supports Kiara! Imagine what could happen to our family if they know you're with her! The danger they'd all be in!"

"All right, I see your point," said Chrissie. "That was brilliant how you got us out of there, though, S.D."

"Yeah, it was," I agreed fervently, speaking for the first time since we had left Xion's. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"You're our hero of the day, Sian," said Chris.

She beamed, but became solemn at once.

"What about Lincoln?"

"Well, if they're telling the truth and he's still alive - " began Chrissie.

"Don't say that, don't say it!" squealed Sian. "He must be alive, he must!"

"Then I expect he'll probably be in Azkaban," said Chris. "Whether he survives the place, though ... loads don't ..."

"He will," I said. I could not bear to contemplate the alternative. "He's tough, Lincoln, much tougher than you'd think. He's probably teaching all the inmates about Wrackspurts and Nargles."

"I hope you're right," said Sian. She passed a hand over her eyes. "I'd feel sorry for Xion if - "

" - if she hadn't tried to sell us to the Love Destroyers, yeah," said Chrissie.

We fell into a comfortable silence, relishing in the chilly mustiness of the place as Chrissie made tea, which, after our narrow escape, felt like home, safe, familiar and friendly.

"Oh, why did we go there?" groaned Sian at last. "Kiara, you were right, it was the Pride Lands all over again, a complete waste of time! The Deathly Hand of Holiness ... such rubbish ... although actually," a sudden thought seemed t have struck her, "she might have made it all up, mightn't she? She probably doesn't believe in the Deathly Hand of Holiness at all, she just wanted to keep us talking until the Love Destroyers arrived!"

"I don't think so," said Chrissie. "It's a damn sight harder making stuff up when you're under stress than you'd think. I found that out when the Snatchers caught me. It was much easier pretending to be Harriett, because I had read a bit about her, than inventing a whole new person. Old Lovedream was under loads of pressure, trying to make sure we stayed put. I reckon she told us the truth, or what she thinks is the truth, just to keep us talking."

"Well, I don't suppose it matters," sighed Sian. "Even if she was being honest, I have never heard such a lot of nonsense in my entire life so far!"

"Hang on, though," said Chris. "The Chamber of Mysteries was supposed to be a myth, wasn't it?"

"But the Deathly Hand of Holiness _can't_ exist, Rickers! It just can't!"

"You keep saying that, but one of them can," said Chrissie. "Kiara's Invisibility Cloak - "

"'The Tales of the Three Sisters' is a story," said Sian firmly. "A story about how humans are frightened of death. If surviving was as simple as hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, we'd have everything we need already!"

"I don't know. We could do with an unbeatable wand," I said, turning the blackthorn wand I so disliked over in my fingers.

"There's no such thing, Kiara!"

"You said there have been loads of wands - the Elder Wand and whatever they were called - "

"All right, even if you wand to kid yourself the Stick of Fear's real, what about the Resurrection Stone?" Her fingers sketched quotation marks around the name, and her tone dripped sarcasm. "No magic can raise the dead, and that's that!"

"When my wand connected with She-You-Know's, it made my grandfather Mufasa appear ... and Georgia ..."

"But they weren't really back from the dead, were they?" said Sian. "Those kind of - of pale imitations aren't the same as truly bringing someone back to life."

"But he, the boy in the tale, didn't really come back, did he? The story says that once people are dead, they belong with the dead. But the second sister still got to seem him and talk to him, didn't she? She even walked with him for a while ... probably would have lived with him, too, if they had reached her home ..."

I saw concern and something less easily definable in Sian's expression. Then, as she glanced at Chris and Chrissie, I realised that it was fear: I had scared her with my talk of living with dead people.

"So that Paducha woman who'd buried in the Pride Lands," I said hastily, trying to sound robustly sane, "you don't know anything about her, then?"

"No," she replied, looking relieved at the change of subject. "I looked her up after I saw the mark on that sign in the Pride Lands; if she'd been anyone famous or done anything important, I'm sure she'd be in one of our books. The only place I've managed to find the name 'Paducha' is _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. I borrowed it from Kleaner," she explained, as Chrissie raised her eyebrows. "It lists the pure-blood families that are now extinct in the male line. Apparently the Paduchas were one of the earliest families to vanish."

"'Extinct in the male line'?" repeated Chrissie.

"It means the name's died out," said Sian, "centuries ago, in the case of the Paduchas. They have descendants, of course, just with different names."

And then it came to me in one shining piece, the memory that had stirred at the sound of Paducha: a filthy old woman brandishing an ugly ring in the face of a Ministry official, and I cried aloud, "Marmarin Mackay!"

"Sorry?" said Chris, Sian and Chrissie together.

" _Marmarin Mackay!_ She-You-Know's grandmother! In the Pensieve! With you and Crighton, Sian! Marmarin Mackay said she was descended from the Paduchas, remember?"

Sian looked clueless; Chris and Chrissie looked bewildered.

"The ring, the ring that became the Horcrux, Sian, Marmarin Mackay said it had the Paducha coat of arms on it! We saw her waving it in the woman from the Ministry's face, she nearly shoved it up her nose!"

I could see the wheels turning in Sian's head, before realisation quickly dawned upon it.

"Of course, I remember now," she said, "but it was too far away for us to see it clearly, wasn't it?"

I nodded. "There was nothing fancy on there, as far as I could see; maybe a few scratches. I only ever saw it really close up after it had been cracked open. Didn't you?"

"I never took much notice, to be honest," Sian said, even as her eyes widened with comprehension. Chris and Chrissie were both staring between Sian and I, astounded.

"You reckon it's this sign again, Kiara?" Chris asked. "The sign of the Hand?"

"Why not?" I said excitedly. "Marmarin Mackay was an ignorant old cow who lived like a pig, all she cared about was her ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through the centuries, she might not have known what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, she wasn't the type to read fairy tales to her kids. She'd have loved to think that the scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as she was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal."

"Yes ... and that's all very interesting," said Sian cautiously, "but Kiara, if you're thinking what I think you're think- "

"Well, why not? _Why not?_ " I said, abandoning caution. "It was a stone, wasn't it?" I looked at Chris and Chrissie for support. "What if it was the Resurrection Stone?"

Chrissie's mouth fell open. "Blimey - but would it still work if Ma broke - "

"Work? _Work?_ Chrissie, it never worked! _There's no such thing as a Resurrection Stone!_ " Sian rolled her eyes, looking exasperated and angry. "Kiara, you're trying to fit everything into the Deathly Hand of Holiness story - "

 _"Fit everything in?"_ I repeated. "Sian, it fits of its own accord! I know the sign of the Deathly Hand of Holiness was on that stone! Mackay said that she was descended from the Paduchas!"

"A minute ago you told us you never saw the mark on the stone properly!"

"Where d'you reckon the ring is now?" Chris asked me. "What did Ma do with it after she broke it open?"

But my imagination was racing ahead, far beyond Chris, Sian and Chrissie's ...

 _These objects, or Fingers, seeing as we are talking of the Hand, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death ... conqueror ... vanquisher ..._

And I saw myself, possessor of the Hand, facing Zira, whose Horcruxes were no match ... _neither can live while the other survives_ ... was this the answer? The Hand versus the Horcruxes? Was there a way, after all, to ensure that I was the one who triumphed? If I were the master of the Deathly Hand of Holiness, would I be safe?

"Kiara?"

But I scarcely heard Sian: I had pulled out my Invisibility Cloak and was running it through my fingers, the cloth supple as water, light as air. I had never seen anything to equal it in all my years in the wizarding world. The Cloak was exactly what Xion had described: _a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer invisible and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it ..._

And then, with a gasp, I remembered -

"Crighton had my Cloak the day She-You-Know tried to kill me!"

My voice shook and I could feel the colour in my face, but I did not care. "My dad told Pumbaa Crighton borrowed the Cloak! This is why! She wanted to examine it, because she thought it was the third Finger! Imani Paducha is buried in the Pride Lands ..." I was walking blindly around the tent, feeling as though great new vistas of truth were opening all around me. "She's my ancestor! I'm descended from the third sister! It all makes sense!"

I felt armed in certainty, in my belief in the Hand, as if the mere idea of possessing the Fingers was giving me protection, and I felt joyous as I turned back to the other three.

"Kiara," said Sian again, but I was too busy undoing the pouch around my neck, my fingers shaking hard.

"Read it," I told her, pushing my father's letter into her hand. "Read it! Your mother had the Cloak, Sian! Why else would she want it? She didn't need an Invisibility Cloak, she could perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful that she made herself completely invisible without one!"

Something fell to the floor and rolled, glittering, under a chair: I had dislodged the Snitch when I pulled out the letter. I stooped to pick it up, and then the newly tapped spring of fabulous discoveries threw me another gift, and shock and wonder erupted inside me so that I shouted out.

"IT'S IN HERE! She left me the ring - it's in the Snitch!"

"You - you reckon?"

I could not understand why Chrissie looked taken aback and Chris clueless. It was so obvious, so clear to me, everything fitted, everything ... my Cloak was the third Finger, and when I discovered how to open the Snitch I would have the second, and then all I needed to do was find the first Finger, the Stick of Fear, and then -

But it was as though a curtain fell on a lit stage: all my excitement, all my hope and happiness was extinguished at a stroke, and I stood alone in the darkness, and the glorious spell was broken.

"That's what she's after."

The change in my voice made Chris, Sian and Chrissie even more scared.

"She-You-Know's after the Stick of Fear."

I turned my back on their strained, incredulous faces. I knew it was the truth. It all made sense. Zira was not seeking a new wand; she was seeking an old wand, a very old wand indeed. I walked to the entrance of the tent, forgetting about Chris, Sian and Chrissie as I looked out into the night, thinking ...

Zira had been raised in a Muggle orphanage. Nobody could have told her _The Tales of Willow the Writer_ when she was a child, any more than I had heard them. Hardly any wizards believed in the Deathly Hand of Holiness. Was it likely that Zira knew about them?

I gazed into the darkness ... if Zira had known about the Deathly Hand of Holiness, surely she would have sought them, done anything to possess them: three objects that made the possessor master of Death? If she had known about the Deathly Hand of Holiness, she might not have needed Horcruxes in the first place. Didn't the simple fact that she had taken a Finger, and turned it into a Horcrux, demonstrate that she did not know this last great wizarding secret?

Which meant that Zira sought the Stick of Fear without realising it full power, without understanding that it was one of the three ... for the wand was the Finger that could not be hidden, whose existence was best known ... _the bloody trail of the Stick of Fear is splattered across the pages of wizarding history_ ...

I watched the cloudy sky, curves of smoke-grey and silver sliding over the face of the white moon. I felt light-headed with amazement at my discoveries.

I turned back into the tent. It was a shock for me to see Chris, Sian and Chrissie standing exactly where I had left them, Chris still looking bewildered, Sian next to him still holding my father's letter, and Chrissie on her other side looking slightly anxious. Didn't they realise how far we had travelled in the last few minutes?

"This is it," I said, trying to bring them inside the glow of my own astonished certainty. "This explains everything. The Deathly Hand of Holiness is real, and I've got one - maybe two - "

I held up the Snitch.

" - and She-You-Know's chasing the third, but she doesn't realise ... she just thinks it's a powerful wand - "

"Kiara," said Sian, moving across to me and handing me back my father's letter, "I'm sorry, but I think you've got this wrong, all wrong."

"But don't you see? It all fits - "

"No, it doesn't," she said. "It _doesn't_ , Kiara, you're just getting carried away. Please," she said, as I started to speak, "please just answer me this. If the Deathly Hand of Holiness really existed, and Ma knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all three of them would be master of Death - Kiara, why wouldn't she have told you - or me? Why?"

I had my answer ready.

"But you said it, Sian! You've got to find out about them for yourself! It's a Quest!"

"But I only said that to try and persuade you to come to the Lovedreams!" cried Sian in exasperation. "I didn't really believe it!"

I took no notice.

"Crighton usually let me find out stuff for myself. She let me try my strength, take risks. This feels like the kind of thing she'd do."

"Kiara, this isn't a game, this isn't practice! This is the real thing, and Ma left you very clear instructions: find and destroy the Horcruxes! That symbol doesn't mean anything, forget the Deathly Hand of Holiness, we can't afford to get sidetracked - "

I was barely listening to her. I was turning the Snitch over and over in my hands, half expecting it to break open, to reveal the Resurrection Stone, to prove to Sian that I was right, that the Deathly Hand of Holiness was real.

She appealed to Chris and Chrissie.

"You two surely don't believe in this, do you?"

I looked up. Chris looked uncomfortable, as Chrissie hesitated.

"I dunno ... I mean ... bits of it sort of fit together," said Chrissie awkwardly. "But when you look at the whole thing ..." She took a deep breath. "I think we're supposed to get rid of Horcruxes, Kiara. That's what Ma told us to do. Maybe ... maybe we should forget about this Deathly Hand of Holiness business."

"I agree with Chrissie. The Horcruxes are more important than the Hand. Sorry, Kiara," said Chris apologetically.

"Thank you, Chris, Chrissie," said Sian. "I'll take first watch."

She handed her mug of tea to Chrissie and stood up on shaky legs, still holding the jar with the bluebell flames, but the moment she tried to take a step she would have fallen if Chris hadn't rushed to her aid and helped steady her. Sian quickly thanked him, took her mug of tea back from Chrissie and carefully went and plonked herself down in the tent entrance, turning the action into a fierce full stop. If I had looked properly, I would have noticed the worried looks Chris and Chrissie gave each other, but I hadn't so I didn't say anything, because my thoughts were all wrapped up on the Deathly Hand of Holiness.

I hardly slept that night. The idea of the Deathly Hand of Holiness had taken possession of me, and I could not rest while agitating thoughts whirled through my mind: the wand, the stone and the Cloak, if I could just possess them all ...

 _I open at the close_ ... but what was the close? Why couldn't I have the stone now? If only I had the stone, I could ask Crighton these questions in person ... and I murmured words to the Snitch in the darkness, trying everything, even Parshydamouth, but the golden ball would not open ...

And the wand, the Stick of Fear, where was that hidden? Where was Zira searching now? I wished my scar would burn and show me Zira's thoughts, because for the first time ever, Zira and I were united in wanting the very same thing ... Sian would not like the idea, of course ... but then, she did not believe ... Xion had been right, in a way ... _Limited. Narrow. Close-minded._ The truth was that she was scared of the idea of the Deathly Hand of Holiness, especially of the Resurrection Stone ... and I pressed my mouth again to the Snitch, kissing it, nearly swallowing it, but the cold metal did not yield ...

It was nearly dawn when I remembered Lincoln, alone in a cell in Azkaban, surrounded by Stingers, and I suddenly felt ashamed of myself. I had forgotten all about him in my feverish contemplation of the Hand. If only we could rescue him, but Stingers in those numbers would be virtually unassailable. Now I came to think about it, I had not yet tried casting a Patronus with the blackthorn wand ... I must try that in the morning ...

If only there was a way of getting a better wand ...

And desire for the Stick of Fear, the Deathtwig, unbeatable, invincible, swallowed me once more ...

We packed up the tent the next morning and moved on through a dreary shower of rain. The downpour pursued us to the coast, where we pitched the tent that night, and persisted through the whole week, through sodden landscapes which I found bleak and depressing. I could think only of the Deathly Hand of Holiness. It was as though a flame had been lit inside me that nothing, not Chris' worries about my sanity nor Sian's disbelief nor Chrissie's persistent doubts, could extinguish. And yet the fiercer my longing for the Hand burned inside me, the less joyful it made me. I blamed Chris, Sian and Chrissie: their determined indifference was as bad as the relentless raise for dampening my spirits, but neither could erode my certainty, which remained absolute. My belief in and longing for the Hand consumed me so much that I felt quite isolated from the other three and their obsession with the Horcruxes.

"Obsession?" said Sian, in a low, fierce voice, when I was careless enough to use the word one evening, after Sian had told me off for my lack of interest in locating more Horcruxes. "We're not the ones with an obsession, Kiara! We're the ones trying to do what Ma wanted us to do!"

But I was impervious to the veiled criticism. Crighton had left the signs of the Hand for Sian to decipher and she had also, I remained convinced of it, left the Resurrection Stone in the golden Snitch. _Neither can live while the other survives_ ... _master of death_ ... why didn't Chris, Sian and Chrissie understand?

Even the mystery of the silver lion, which the other three insisted on discussing, seemed less important to me now, a vaguely interesting sideshow. The only other thing that mattered to me was that my scar had begun to prickle again, although I did all I could to hide this fact from the other three. I sough solitude whenever it happened, but was disappointed by what I saw. The visions Zira and I were sharing had changed in quality; they had become blurred, shifting as though they were moving in and out of focus. I was just able to make out the indistinct features of an object that looked like a skull, and something like a mountain that was more shadow than substance. Used to images as sharp as reality, I was disconcerted by the change. I was worried that the connection between myself and Zira had been damaged, a connection that I both feared and, whatever I told Chris and Sian, prized. Somehow I connected these unsatisfying, vague images with the destruction of my wand, as if it was the blackthorn wand's fault that I could no longer see into Zira's mind as well as before.

As the weeks crept on, I could not help but notice, even though my new self-absorption, that something was going on with Sian. Everywhere we Apparated to, Sian would immediately vomit on the spot she landed on, which had to be cleaned up before the tent was put up. Chris then gave her a drop of Phoenix Fire Potion then he would start doing the protective enchantments, as Chrissie helped with the tent. As this was going on, Sian, sensing me approach her, would put a hood or a veil over her head, so that all of her face was in shadow; sometimes she would have to fix her blue leather gloves that always seemed to be falling off her hands, like they were too big for her or something. Once the tent was up, Sian quickly dashed inside it for her bunk, around which was covered in curtains, like the ones that Matron had been forced to put around Sian's bed in the hospital wing when she had been Petrified all those years ago, and when I would turn to Chris and Chrissie for answers, they made up excuses to do other things and left me standing there alone. What was going on? What were my friends hiding from me this time?

And so it went on. I never saw much of Sian in those weeks, but from what I did see of her, I saw that when we landed after Apparating, Sian would take in large lungfuls of air, panting heavily before she vomited, as though she was finding it difficult to breathe. She never used her magic any more, which was odd; I once saw her holding her wand, feeling it with her fingers, as though it were foreign to her. She was also getting thinner, which I knew because once or twice after the tent had been erected and Sian had removed her coat, I saw that her clothes were rather baggy and she had to hitch her jeans up. Sian was eating less and less every day from the odd snippets of conversation I caught from Chris and Chrissie, and sometimes when I was passing her bunk, I thought I could hear her breath rasping, which made my heart ache for her.

I could tell that Chris and Chrissie knew what was wrong with her: sometimes I would pretend I was thinking about the Hand just so that I could look at them when they thought I wasn't looking, and I saw them whispering together, exchanging worried looks, and every so often one of them would look at what I knew was Sian's bunk. I often caught Chrissie wiping away tears as Chris comforted her. I would catch the pair of them whispering often, but when they saw me looking or approaching them, they would either split up or talk about something else, but their concern for Sian was evident.

I still did not know what was wrong with her, though, for I knew that Sian was ill, but I did not know just how ill she was until one morning early in February, and it is something I have never forgot ... something that will be sure to haunt me until the day I die ...

We had Apparated to a cave outside of Hogsmeade on a cold rainy morning. Once there, Sian, who couldn't find her feet, and who was panting heavily, fell down as her legs gave out completely, screaming in agony. I watched as she struggled to move, and two things struck me as I watched on in shock: there didn't seem to be that much strength left in Sian's body to support her, and as much as she tried to get them to move, her legs could not move an inch.

Hating to see my best and dearest friend suffering like this, I moved to help her before either Chris or Chrissie could stop me, and as I knelt down beside her and touched her, I was astonished to feel practically no muscle there, only bone, or so it seemed to me, anyway. At my touch, Sian turned to face me, and I gasped in shock at what was staring back at me, because I felt like I was staring into the sunken eyes of a corpse.

Sian's face was gaunt and pale, the skin tight and taunt against her bones so that it looked like the skin was actually sewn on to the bone. I would have thought that she was a corpse had it not been for her eyes, which were alive but dim, as though a great deal of light and life had been sucked right out of them. There was such pain and sadness I could see etched in them, but there was something else, something more sad and terrible: there was no desperation in them, rather a begging for death to claim her ...

I sat there, not knowing what to think, say, feel or do as I looked at my friend. I tried not to show my pity, for I knew that Sian would not like or want it, but I could not help it, for Sian turned away from me.

At that moment, Chrissie came over and looked through Sian's beaded bag for the tent, not looking at me as she got it, as Chris was putting up the protective enchantments. Once the tent was out, Chrissie looked at Sian properly, and as her eyes took in her sister, they widened with fear and shock. Chrissie then touched Sian gently on the shoulder, looked at me apologetically and then went to set up the tent.

I stayed by Sian's side, watching her struggle. It seemed like every move she made was causing her immense difficulty and pain. I heard Chrissie shout, "The tent's up, Chris," a few minutes later. Chris quickly hurried over to us at that, knelt beside Sian and picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all. Once he had stood up again, he turned to me and said, "Stay out here a moment, will you?" Not knowing what else to say, I nodded. Chris then took Sian inside the tent, Chrissie right on his heels.

I stood up and waited, pacing as my mind was buzzing with what I had just seen: Sian keeling on the floor ... Sian, so thin, so fragile ... Sian, her eyes begging to die ... I had to choke back a sob at that last one. How could I have been so selfish? How could I have been so blind in my own self-absorption that I could not see that my best friend needed me? The signs were there, after all: Sian stumbling and nearly falling, her blood mixed with vomit, hiding herself away, eating less, the rasping of her breath, her panting, the hushed conversations Chris and Chrissie had often had together, the worried and saddened glances they would throw Sian's way, even though she could not see them, and the tears Chrissie would quickly brush off ...

And then I gasped, realising, horribly, that I was acting just like Crighton had when she was my age: putting the Hand first and everyone else second. Well, I thought, at least Sian will not die in a duel like Crighton's brother did ... but even that thought did nothing to erase the guilt inside of me ...

I did not have long to wait outside then tent. Chris and Chrissie came out slowly, both of them wearing expressions that would not be foreign at a funeral. Chris turned to me and said, "You can go in now, Kiara. She's asking for you." I nodded my thanks to him, touched Chrissie's arm briefly and went inside.

Once the tent flap had closed, I stood there, not knowing how to approach her. I could see that Sian was in a chair with her back to me, her hood off, and I could see that Sian's hair was lank, limp and lifeless, even in the dim light, and it was greasy, wavy and matted, not like its usual clean and straight self, curling inwardly at the end. As I was still pondering how I should go over to her, I heard Sian say sharply, her voice unrecognisable by how hoarse it was, "Come and sit beside me, Kiara. I know you're there."

I jumped when I heard her speak, but I should not have been surprised that she knew. I heard Chrissie's voice saying to me years ago: _"She always knows."_ I gave a slight chuckle at just how true that statement was, before I made my way over to her.

When I was stood beside her, I looked at her and was struck once again by just how much Sian had changed in such a short amount of time. I saw that she was holding the jar of blue flames in her thin hands, and I figured that Chris must have done them for her. Looking up at me, she nodded at the seat next to her. I sat.

We were both silent for some time, neither of us knowing what to say. Finally, I blurted out the first thing I could think of before my mouth had time to catch up with my brain.

"You look terrible."

As soon as I had said those words, I immediately regretted them; I put my hands over my mouth, ashamed of myself. But to my relief, Sian did not seem to be offended by my comment. On the contrary, she gave a hoarse laugh at what I said.

"Yes, I suppose I do, don't I?" she said, smiling slightly.

Not knowing how to respond to this, I laughed, because it was the easiest thing to do. Then, as Sian's expression became serious and sombre, so did mine, and I knew the tough conversation part had come.

"So ... how did this happen to you?" I asked her gently.

Sian sighed resignedly and said, "It started the night my mother turned her back on me and Chrissie left. Ever since the moment my mother turned her back on me, I've felt a pain enter my heard that has never left, a pain that has only grown stronger with each passing day, a pain that has been destroying me from the inside out, and now I'm at the point where my legs have given up on me," she said, looking at said legs annoyed. She then looked back at me, sombre once more, and said, "I'm dying, Kiara. Dying of a broken heart."

Even though I knew she was dying when I looked at her properly a few minutes ago, I was surprised at how her words shocked and hurt me, which is why I could not stop myself from asking, "Are you - are you sure - ?"

"Kiara, look at me," Sian said, gesturing to herself. "I haven't got long left on this earth, I can feel it. But when the times comes, I will not run away from death; instead I shall be glad to meet it, for I do not fear death. To be honest with you, Kiara, right now I am looking forward to leaving this world - which does not mean to say that I shall not miss those I love, for I will, but I will be glad to leave here and be at peace with myself, and hopefully I will be able to make peace with my mother one day, too - "

"Stop it!" I shouted, standing up. Sian was scaring me, and from the way she looked and spoke, it was like she was ready to leave right now and float away to whatever afterlife she saw for herself. "You're scaring me, Sian! Why are you talking like this?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Sian spat back, her eyes furious. "Why shouldn't I accept my fate, Kiara? This is happening, no matter what! I am far beyond the point of help or hope now ... this I know."

Sian looked away from me. I stared at her, wondering how, even in her weakened, hopeless state, she could be so brave? My thoughts then went to Chris and Chrissie, and I wondered how long they had known. But then I remembered the day Chrissie had come back, and how odd her reappearance had seemed at the time, but looking back now it all made sense ...

"Chris and Chrissie have known about this since Christmas Day, haven't they?"

"Yes," Sian nodded.

"That's the real reason Chrissie came back, isn't it?"

Sian nodded again.

"And you asked them both to keep this from me, didn't you?"

Again, Sian nodded.

"I don't understand why you did that," I said, angry and hurt by Sian's actions. "Do you think so little of our friendship that you couldn't put your trust in me?"

Sian looked at me, hurt. I instantly regretted what I said, but I could not take the words back.

"Of course not! I do trust you, Kiara, and I value your friendship greatly!"

"So you, Chris and Chrissie have all been laughing behind my back because I was so slow to figure it out?"

"Of course we haven't!" Sian said indignantly, tears filling her eyes. "There have been many times when Chris and Chrissie have begged me to tell you, or else beg me to let them tell you, but I always said no."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I didn't know how to tell you, and I didn't know how you'd react, and it scared me."

"So were you going to keep me in the dark until your death, was that how this was going to go?" I asked, not understanding her at all.

"Kiara, of course I was going to tell you," Sian told me, her tears falling thick and fast now. "In fact, I have been trying to pluck up the courage to tell you over these past few weeks, but I didn't know - "

Suddenly Sian gasped, a hand clutching the place where her heart was, her head thrown backwards, her mouth open in a silent scream. I went to her side immediately, cursing myself for being angry with Sian when I should have been comforting her, and for not thinking that us arguing was not good for her, seeing as it was putting strain on her broken heart. I rubbed her back soothingly until her breathing resumed a normal enough rhythm before I spoke again.

"I'm sorry for being angry with you. I should have thought - "

"It's OK," Sian said, shaking her head and drying her eyes. "You have every right to be angry with me."

"Still, given your condition ..." I hesitated, then added, "When did you become so forgiving, anyway?"

"I'm a dying woman, Kiara; I don't want to spend the rest of my limited number of days spent in anger and spite. Besides, how do you think I accepted Chrissie back so easily?"

I nodded at that, floored, yet again, by Sian's logic. I then told her, "Look, I was selfish for not being there for you before, but that changes now. So if you need anything, just ask me, because it' not only Chris and Chrissie who're going to help you from now on."

Sian gave me a watery smile. Thank you, Kiara," she said, and we hugged, no words being needed to be said between us.

After a while, we let go of each other. "Do you have anything else you'd like to say to me, or ..."

I trailed off, not knowing what to say. Sian smiled, shook her head and said, "I'm all right for now. Go to Chris and Chrissie."

"All right," I said. I smiled at her then turned towards the tent entrance. I stopped before I went outside, took a breath for courage and then went to my friends.

Chris and Chrissie were standing not that far from the tent, having another whispered conversation. Chrissie was first to spot me: she gasped, alerting Chris to my presence, who turned quickly. I noticed that the two of them tensed up at my appearance, and I decided to put their minds at ease.

"She told me everything," I said, not sure of what else to say.

Chris and Chrissie visibly relaxed, which somehow made me relax, too.

"Kiara, listen," said Chrissie quickly, "we wanted to tell you, we really - "

"It's OK, Sian explained," I said. I then noticed a wheelchair sitting not too far away, carved entirely from cedar wood, and beautifully decorated with leaves, vines and tiny wild flowers. Seeing what I was looking at, Chris explained, "The Oracle sent it before. To help Sian out and make things easier for her, you know."

I nodded and looked at Chris. As soon as my eyes landed on his, all of my pent-up emotion that I did not even realise had been inside me while I was talking with Sian, was now desperate to find an outlet.

"I can't believe this is happening, and to Sian of all people," I said, as I felt tears begin to fill my eyes. "Why her, you know? Why now? Hasn't she gone through enough as it is? We can't ... we can't lose her ... I don't know what I'll do if she - "

"Come here," Chris said, opening his arms wide. I ran to him at once, letting his familiar woodsy scent calm me as he stroked my hair, whispering sweet, comforting things into it, and every now and again, he would kiss my hair. I did not back away from it; I relished being in the security of his arms once more, not realising how much I had missed it until that moment. He remained like that for some time, the two of us oblivious to everything but each other.

From then on, the curtains around Sian's bed were taken down, but she still kept her hood up: I think this was more to do with making it easier with herself to live with all of us if we did not have to see her face every day, which it did. Now, my dear readers, I know many of you will be wondering if I was angry with Sian during this time. Truth is, I could not be angry with her, try as I may. Given Sian's condition, she needed friendship and love, not animosity and spite. Besides, it was Sian's pride that kept her from telling me, so no, I was not angry with her. But I was at Crighton. After all, it was her fault: if she had not turned her back on Sian that night, maybe she would not be dying. So can you blame me for being angry at my old headmistress?

There were nights when Chris, Chrissie and I would sit together at the tent entrance, sometimes talking quietly, other times just staring at the night sky, consumed in our own thoughts, but we were there for each other, comforting ourselves through our company about what Sian was going through. I would often find myself laying my head on Chris' shoulder just for some comfort, despite my feelings for him, but he understood, for he just wrapped his arm around me, not saying a word, trying to hold his own tears in, just like Chrissie and I were both doing, for we knew that Sian would not want us to be sad or pity her. Every so often, one of us would look over at Sian when she was asleep or when she was consumed in a book, just to see if she was still breathing, then seeing that she was still alive, look back at the sky again, and when we were talking, we would continue our conversation. When I wasn't keeping watch at night, I would check up on Sian when I woke up in the middle of the night, just to see if she was still alive, and when I heard her shallow breathing, I would nod, relieved that she was going to make it through another night, and go back to bed.

I did not forget about the Hand, though. Oh no. I still thought of them often, but whenever Sian would cough or gasp in pain, thoughts of the Hand quickly left my head, only to come back later when Sian was all right again, which happened several times a day, and as the weeks passed, and my mind was torn between the Hand and Sian, I noticed that Chrissie seemed to be taking charge. Perhaps because she was determined to make up for having walked out on us: perhaps because my descent into listlessness galvanised her dormant leadership qualities, or perhaps she wanted to distract herself from her sister's ill-health, Chrissie was the one now encouraging and exhorting the rest of us into action.

"Three Horcruxes left," she kept saying. "We need a plan of action, come on! Where haven't we looked? Let's go through it again. The orphanage ..."

Diagon Alley, Dragon Mort, the Mystery House, Borgin and Burkes, Albania, the Pride Lands, every place that we knew Dizra Maliay had ever lived or worked, visited or murdered in, Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I raked over them again, I only joined in to stop Sian pestering me - well, when she was awake, anyway, for she slept a lot in those days, understandably of course. Anyhoo, I would have been happy to sit alone in silence, trying to read Zira's thoughts, to find out more about the Stick of Fear, but Chrissie insisted on journeying to ever more unlikely places simply, I was aware, to keep us moving. We even tried, on Chrissie insistence, travelling into wizarding villages, which unfortunately brought us within occasional sight of Snatchers.

"Some of them are supposed to be as bad as Love Destroyers," said Chrissie. "The lot that got me were a bit pathetic, but Sam reckons some of them are really dangerous. They said on _Pridewatch_ \- "

"On what?" I said.

" _Pridewatch_ , didn't I tell you that's what it's called? The programme I keep trying to get on the radio, the only one that tells the truth about what's going on! Nearly all the programmes are following She-You-Know's line, all except _Pridewatch_. I really want you to hear it, but it's tricky tuning in ..."

Chrissie spent evening after evening using her wand to beat out various rhythms on top of the wireless while the dials whirled. Occasionally we would catch snatches of advice on how to treat dragon pox, and once, a few bars of "The Bat Won't Bite my Man," by the Jinxters. While she tapped, Chrissie continued to try to hit on the correct password, muttering strings of random words under her breath.

"They're normally something to do with the Order," she told us. "Sam had a real knack for guessing them. I'm bound to get one in the end ..."

But not until March did luck favour Chrissie at last. I was sitting in the tent entrance, on guard duty, staring idly at a clump of grape hyacinths that had forced their way through the chilly ground, when Chrissie shouted excitedly from inside the tent.

"I've got it, I've got it! Password was 'Susan'! Get in here, Kiara!"

Roused yet again from my contemplation of the Deathly Hand of Holiness, I hurried back inside to find Chris helping Sian down from her bunk, where she had been sleeping, on to the floor where Chrissie was, who was kneeling beside the little radio. As the three of us settled next to Chrissie, we sat open-mouthed, staring at the tiny speaker, from which a most familiar voice was issuing.

" ... apologise for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house-calls in our area by those charming Love Destroyers."

"But that's Leah Jones!" came Sian's familiar hoarse voice, issuing from under her hood.

"I know!" beamed Chrissie. "Cool, eh?"

" ... now found ourselves another secure location," Leah was saying, "and I'm pleased to tell you that two of our regular contributors have joined me here this evening. Evening, girls!"

"Hi."

"Evening, Lakeside."

"'Lakeside,' that's Leah," Chrissie explained. "They've all got codenames, but you can usually tell - "

"Shh!" said Chris.

"But before we hear from Lofty and Lurch," Leah went on, "let's take a moment to report those deaths that the _Wizarding Wireless Network_ and the _Daily Squabbler_ and the _Daily Prophet_ don't think important enough to mention. It is with regret that we inform our listeners to the murders of Tim Todd and Daphne Cauldwell."

I felt a sick swooping in my belly. Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I gazed at one another in horror.

"A faun by the name of Gorzon was also killed. It is believed that Muggle-born Dena Wright and a second faun, both believe to have been travelling with Todd, Cauldwell and Gorzon, may have escaped. If Dena is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of her whereabouts, her parents are desperate for news.

"Meanwhile, in Southampton, a Muggle family of four has been found dead in their home. Muggle authorities are attributing their deaths to a gas leak, but members of the Order of the Centaur inform me that it was the Killing Curse - more evidence, as if it were needed, of the fact that Muggle slaughter is becoming little more than a recreational sport under the new regime.

"Finally, we regret to inform our listeners that the remains of Imamu Ibori, the South African Magihistorian, have been discovered in the Pride Lands. The evidence is that he died several months ago. The Order of the Centaur informs us that his body showed unmistakable signs of injuries inflicted by Dark Magic.

"Listeners, I'd like to invite you now to join us in a minute's silence in memory of Tim Todd, Daphne Cauldwell, Imamu Ibori, Gorzon and the unnamed, but no less regretted, Muggles murdered by the Love Destroyers."

Silence fell, and Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I did not speak. Half of me yearned to hear more, half of me was afraid of what might come next. It was the first time I had felt fully connected to the outside world for a long time.

"Thank you," said Leah's voice. "And now we turn to our regular contributor, Lofty, for an update on how the new wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world."

"Thanks, Lakeside," said an unmistakable voice, soft, measured, reassuring.

"Kara!" burst out Chrissie.

"We know!" said Chris, hushing her.

"Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties," said Kara. "However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbours, often without the Muggles' knowledge. I'd like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken."

"And what would you say, Lofty, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be 'wizards first'?" asked Leah.

"I'd say that it's one short step from 'wizards first' to 'pure-bloods first', and then to Love Destroyers," replied Kara. "You know, there are some very wise people out there who know that if you take away our blood status and our standing in society, that we are all the same thing underneath all that: human. And that counts for something, doesn't it?"

"Excellently put, Lofty, and you've got my vote for Minister for Magic if we ever get out of this mess," said Leah. "And now, over to Lurch for our popular feature: Pals of Pride-Lander."

"Thanks, Lakeside," said another very familiar voice; Chrissie started to speak, but Sian forestalled her in a hoarse whisper.

 _"We know it's Meers!"_

"Lurch, do you maintain, as you have every time you've appeared on our programme that Kiara Pride-Lander is still alive?"

"I do," said Meers firmly. "There is no doubt at all in my mind that her death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Love Destroyers if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. The 'Girl Who Lived' remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting."

Gratitude welled up inside me at Meers' words, and I was glad that he was not angry for what I had told him the last time we had met.

"And what would you say to Kiara if you knew she was listening, Lurch?"

"I'd tell her that we're all with her in spirit, and that her parents and brother are missing her terribly, and that they love her very much," said Meers. "And I'd tell her to follow her instincts, which are good and nearly always right."

I looked at Chris, a slight smile forming on his lips.

"Nearly always right," he repeated.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" said Chrissie in surprise. "Sam told me Meers' living with Todd again! And apparently she's getting pretty big too."

" ... and our usual update on those friends of Kiara Pride-Lander's who are suffering for their allegiance?" Leah was saying.

"Well, as regular listeners will know, several of the more outspoken supporters of Kiara Pride-Lander have now been imprisoned, including Xion Lovedream, erstwhile editor of _The Mystics_ \- " said Meers.

"At least she's still alive!" muttered Chrissie.

"We have also heard within the last few hours that Mina Wickes - " the four of us gasped loudly at those words and nearly missed the rest of the sentence " - well-known gamekeeper at Dragon Mort School, has narrowly escaped arrest within the grounds of Dragon Mort, where she is rumoured to have hosted a 'Support Kiara Pride-Lander' party in her house. However, Mina was not taken into custody, and is, we believe, on the run."

"I suppose it helps, when escaping from Love Destroyers, if you've got a sixteen-foot-high half-sister?" said Leah.

"It would tend to give you an edge," agreed Meers gravely. "May I just add that while we here at _Pridewatch_ applaud Mina's spirit, we would urge that even the most devoted of Kiara's supporters against following Mina's lead. 'Support Kiara Pride-Lander' parties are unwise in the present climate."

"Indeed they are, Lurch," said Leah, "so we suggest that you continue to show your devotion to the woman with the flame scar by listening to _Pridewatch_! And now let's move to news concerning the witch who is proving just as elusive as Kiara Pride-Lander. We like to refer to her as the Chief Love Destroyer, and here to give her views on some of the more insane rumour circulating her, I'd like to introduce a new correspondent: Lark."

 _"'Lark?'"_ said yet another familiar voice, and Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I cried out together: "Tanya!"

"No - is it Geri?"

"It's Tanya, I think," said Chrissie, leaning in closer, as whichever twin it was said, "I'm not being 'Lark', no way, I told you I wanted to be 'Lynx'!"

"Oh, all right then. 'Lynx', could you please give us your take on the various stories we've been hearing about the Chief Love Destroyer?"

"Yes, Lakeside, I can," said Tanya. "As our listeners will know, unless they've taken refuge at the bottom of a garden pond or somewhere similar, She-You-Know's strategy of remaining in the shadows is creating a nice little climate of panic. Mind you, if all the alleged sightings of her are genuine, we must have a good nineteen She-You-Knows running around the place."

"Which suits her, of course," said Kara. "The air of mystery is creating more terror than actually showing herself."

"Agreed," said Tanya. "So people, let's try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that She-You-Know can kill with a single flash of her teeth. That's a _Lizsnabadra_ , listeners. One simple test: check whatever the thing that's flashing its pearly whites at you has got unshiny teeth. If it has, it's safe to look at, although if it really is She-You-Know, that's still likely to be the last thing you ever do."

For the first time in weeks and weeks, I was laughing: I could feel the weight of tension leaving me.

"And the rumours that she keeps being sighted abroad?" asked Leah.

"Well, who wouldn't want a nice little holiday after all the hard work she's been putting in?" asked Tanya. "Point is, people, don't get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking she's out of the country. Maybe she is, maybe she isn't, but the fact remains she can move faster than Tiana Triphorm confronted with shampoo when she wants to, so don't count on her being a long way away if you're planning on taking any risks. I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but safety first!"

"Thank you very much for those wise words, Lynx," said Leah. "Listeners, that brings us to the end of another _Pridewatch_. We don't know when it will be possible to broadcast again, but you can be sure we shall be back. Keep twiddling those dials: the next password will be 'Crazy-Head'. Keep each other safe: keep faith. Goodnight."

The radio's dials twirled and the lights behind the tuning panel went out. Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I were still beaming. Hearing familiar, friendly voices was an extraordinary tonic; I had become so used to our isolation I had nearly forgotten that other people were resisting Zira. It was like waking from a long sleep.

"Good, eh?" said Chrissie happily.

"Brilliant," I said.

"It's so brave of them," said Sian admiringly. "If they were found ..."

"Well, they keep on the move, don't they?" said Chrissie. "Like us."

"I'm glad to have heard that," Chris said. "It's nice to know that someone's on our side."

"But did you hear what Tanya said?" I asked excitedly; now the broadcast was over, my thoughts turned again towards my all-consuming obsession. "She's abroad: she's still looking for the wand, I knew it!"

"Kiara - "

"Come on, Sian, why are you so determined not to admit it? Zir- "

"KIARA, NO!"

" -ra's after the Stick of Fear!"

"The name's Taboo, remember?" Chrissie bellowed, leaping to her feet as a loud _crack_ sounded outside the tent. "Dad told us we couldn't say it any more, remember? We've got to put the protection back around us - quickly - before they find - "

But Chrissie stopped talking, and I knew why. The Sneakoscope on the table had lit up and began to spin; we could hear voices coming nearer and nearer: rough, excited voices. Chrissie pulled the Deluminator out of her pocket and clicked it: our lamps went out, at the same moment as Chris jumped up and ran to the table to get Sian's bag, which he quickly wrapped up and hid in his sock, having no time to put the sword back in, which he had been cleaning prior to this for something to do, and Sian hid her phoenix pendant, which she always wore in spite of the ill-feelings she had for her mother, making sure every inch was covered by the jumper under her coat.

"Come out of there with your hands up!" came a rasping voice through the darkness. "We know you're in there! You've got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don't care who we curse!


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: So, in this chapter you will find out more about Sian's history with Katalina Outsider, which is important for the second part of book 7, so please remember it. Also, two characters die rather graphically, so keep an eye out for that. And also, I should point out that Sian's time is running out now, and that this will be important in the next chapter, where you will need to bring your tissues, but more on that next time. Oh, and I also added a little more about how Chris, Chrissie and Kiara are coping with Sian in the last chapter now that Kiara knows what Sian is going through. It's just a small paragraph, but it's something. For now, though, enjoy this chapter, and I will update with the penultimate chapter of the first part of the seventh book same time next week.**

 **Chapter 27**

 **Malty Manor**

 **KIARA**

I looked around at the other three, now mere outlines in the darkness. I saw Chris point his wand, not towards the outside, but into my face; before I could react or ask what he was doing, there was a bang, a burst of white light, and I buckled in agony, unable to see. I could feel my face swelling under my hands, as heavy footfalls surrounded me.

"Get up, vermin."

Unknown hands dragged me roughly off the ground. Before I could stop them, someone had rummaged through my pockets and removed the blackthorn wand. I clutched at my excruciatingly painful face, which felt unrecognisable beneath my fingers, tight, swollen and puffy as though I had suffered some allergic reaction. My eyes had been reduced to slits through which I could barely see as I was bundled out of the tent; all I could make out were the blurred shapes of four or five people wrestling Chris, Sian and Chrissie outside too.

"Get - off - here!" Chris shouted. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh: Chris grunted in pain, which I somehow felt too, as I shouted, "No, leave him alone! Leave him alone!"

"Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that done to him if he's on my list," said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. "Delicious girl ... what a treat ... I do enjoy the softness of the skin ..."

My stomach turned over. I knew who this was: Rasputin Silverfur, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Love Destroyer robes in return for his savagery.

"Search the tent!" said another voice, as I heard Chrissie whimper imploringly, "Please, please be careful with my sister! She's ill! She can't walk!"

"Shut your trap!" said another voice. There was a sound of flesh hitting flesh: Chrissie let out a cry of shock, and I heard Sian whimper at Chrissie's distress.

"Let's see how well your sister can stand on her own feet, shall we?" said a new, harsh voice that I instantly realised belonged to Alice Abster: I turned my head towards where I thought the voice was coming from, and through the slits in my eyes I could just make out two figures supporting a third, who I knew to be Sian. They dropped her and she fell in a heap on the ground, not having any support at all in her legs to sustain her.

"Well it seems your sister was right," said Alice, amidst the laughter. "You're like a Mudblood with those legs, aren't you, you - what's this?" Alice sounded puzzled by something. "Why've you got your hood up? What're you hiding?"

When Sian didn't answer, Alice said in a more commanding tone, "I said, what are you - "

There was a pause, and I could just see Alice jumping back in shock and alarm at the state of Sian's weak and thin body after she had thrown Sian's hood back, and a beam of wandlight hit her face. After a few moments, Silverfur spoke again.

"What a waste of flesh you are." More laughter answered his statement. "Such a shame, really ... I could imagine you as quite a pretty girl ... ah well, someone else will finish you off in time. Now, what happened to you to look like this?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me," said Sian hoarsely, some fire behind her words.

"Look at that, girls, a talking corpse!" Silverfur sneered. More laughter ensued. "Now, where's your wand, skinny bones?"

"It broke, months ago," Sian answered. "My brother, sister and our companion have been helping me in my ... condition."

"Is that so?" Silverfur sneered. "Well, I don't think it's worth asking for your name, considering you're at death's door anyway - "

"I know I'm a dying woman, you don't have to keep taunting me with that knowledge!" Sian spat, before coughing heavily.

There was a pause, then Silverfur said, "Well don't just stand there - search the tent!"

I was thrown, face down, on to the ground. Two thuds told me that Chris and Chrissie had been cast down on either side of me. We could hear footsteps and crashes: the women were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched.

"Now, let's see who we've got," said Silverfur's gloating voice from overhead, and I was rolled over on to my back. A beam of wandlight fell in my face and Silverfur laughed.

"I'll be needing Butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"

I did not answer immediately.

"I _said_ ," repeated Silverfur, and I received a blow to the diaphragm that made me double over in pain, "what happened to you?"

"Stung," I muttered. "Been stung."

"Yeah, it looks like it," said a second voice.

"What's your name?" snarled Silverfur.

"Carol," I said.

"And your first name?"

"I - Ursula. Ursula Carol."

"Check the list, Scarro," said Silverfur, and I heard him move sideways to look down at Chrissie, instead. "And what about you, brunette?"

"Harriett Hallmark," said Chrissie.

"Like 'ell you are," said the woman called Scarro. "We know Harriett Hallmark, she's put a bit of work our way."

There was another thud.

"I'b Maria," said Chrissie, and I could tell that her mouth was full of blood. "Maria Bawson."

"A Dawson?" rasped Silverfur. "So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. And lastly, the handsome boy ..." The relish in his voice made my skin crawl.

"Easy, Silverfur," said Scarro, over the jeering of the others.

"Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll see if he's a bit quicker at remembering his name than Maria. Who are you, boy?"

"Patrick Clearstone," said Chris. There was a slight waver in his voice, but he sounded convincing.

"What's your blood status?"

"Half-blood," said Chris.

"Easy enough to check," said Scarro. "But the 'ole lot of 'em look like they could still be Dragon Mort or 'Ogwarts age - "

"We'b lebt," said Chrissie.

"left, 'ave you, brunette?" said Scarro. "And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you'd use the Scarlet Lady's name?"

"Nod a laugh," said Chrissie. "Aggiden."

"Accident?" There was more jeering laughter.

"You know who used to like using the Scarlet Lady's name, Dawson?" growled Silverfur. "The Order of the Centaur. Mean anything to you?"

"Doh."

"Well, they don't show the Scarlet Lady proper respect, so the name's been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We'll see. Bind them with the other two prisoners!"

Someone yanked me up by the hair, dragged me a short way, pushed me down into a sitting position, then started binding me back-to-back with other people. I was still half-blind, barely able to see anything through my puffed up eyes. When at last the woman tying us had walked away, I whispered to the other prisoners.

"Anyone still got a wand?"

"No," said Chris, Sian and Chrissie from either side of me.

"This is all my fault, I said the name, I'm sorry - "

"Kiara?"

It was a new, but familiar, voice, and it came from directly behind me, from the person tied to Sian's left.

 _"Dena?"_

"It _is_ you! If they find out who they've got -! They're Snatchers, they're only looking for truants to sell for gold - "

"Not a bad little haul for one night," Silverfur was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched close by me and we heard more crashes from inside the tent. "A Mudblood, a runaway fawn and four truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scarro?" he roared.

"Yeah. There's no Ursula Carol on 'ere, Silverfur."

"Interesting," said Silverfur. "That's interesting."

He crouched down beside me, and I saw, through the infinitesimal gap left between my swollen eyelids, a face covered in matted, grey hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores at the corner of his mouth. Silverfur smelled as he had done at the top of the Tower where Crighton had died: of dirt, sweat and blood.

"So you aren't wanted, then, Ursula? Or are you on that list under a different name? Which school were you in? Which house?"

"Dragon Mort was my school, and Snake-Eyes was my house," I said.

"Funny 'ow they all thinks we want to 'ear that," jeered Scarro out of the shadows. "But none of 'em can tell us where the common room is."

"It's in the dungeons," I said clearly. "You enter through the wall. It's full of skulls and stuff and it's under the river, so the light's all green."

There was a short pause.

"Well, well, looks like we really 'ave caught a little Snake-Eyes," said Scarro. "Good for you, Ursula, 'cause there ain't a lot of Mudblood Snake-Eyes. Who's your mother?"

"She works at the Ministry," I lied. I knew that my whole story would collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, I only had until my face regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case. "Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"You know what, Silverfur," said Scarro. "I think there _is_ a Carol in there."

I could barely breathe: could luck, sheer luck, get us safely out of this?

"Well, well," said Silverfur, and I could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and I knew that Silverfur was wondering whether he had indeed just attacked and bound the daughter of a Ministry official. My heart was pounding against the ropes around my ribs; I would not have been surprised to know that Silverfur could see it. "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your mother'll reward us just for picking you up."

"But," I said, my mouth bone dry, "if you just let us - "

"Hey!" came a shout from inside the tent. "Look at this, Silverfur!"

A dark figure came bustling towards us, and I saw a glint of silver in the light of their wands. They had found Lion-Heart's sword.

"Ve-e-ry nice," said Silverfur appreciatively, taking it from his companion. "Oh, very nice indeed. Looks faun-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"

"It's my mother's," I lied, hoping against hope that it was too dark for Silverfur to see the name etched just below the hilt. "We borrowed it to cut firewood - "

"'Ang on a minute, Silverfur! Look at this, in the _Squabbler_!"

As Scarro said it, my scar, which was stretched tight across my distended forehead, burned savagely. More clearly than I could make out anything around me, I saw a towering building, a grim fortress, jet black and forbidding; Zira's thoughts had suddenly become razor-sharp again; she was gliding towards the gigantic building with a sense of calmly euphoric purpose ...

 _So close ... so close ..._

With a huge effort of will, I closed my mind to Zira's thoughts, pulling myself back to where I sat, tied to Chris, Sian, Chrissie, Dena and Grimzhann in the darkness, listening to Silverfur and Scarro.

 _"'Sian Dawson and Christopher Rickers,'"_ Scarro was saying, _"'the Sackbrain and half-blood who are known to be travelling with Kiara Pride-Lander.'"_

My scar burned in the silence, but I made a supreme effort to keep myself present, not to slip into Zira's mind. I heard the creak of Silverfur's boots as he crouched down in front of Chris.

"You know what, boy? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."

"But that could be anyone who looked just like me, for all you know!" Chris said quickly. There was another short pause, then the sound of flesh hitting flesh again, accompanied by a loud groan of pain from Chris, which made me flinch.

"So we know it's the boy, Silverfur, but what about dead legs over there?" Scarro said. "Is she Crighton's eldest?"

"Hmm," Silverfur murmured. "It could be her in better days, couldn't it?" I heard Silverfur moving to Sian. "So, is it you, girly? Are you Crighton's Sackbrain child?"

Laughter from overhead answered him, but Sian's voice rasped emotionlessly, "I think you know the answer to that one, don't you?"

It broke my heart to hear my friend speak so, but I knew why she did: not only because she knew the game was up, but also because she had accepted her fate.

 _"' ... known to be travelling with Kiara Pride-Lander',"_ repeated Silverfur quietly.

A stillness had settled over the scene. My scar was exquisitely painful, but I struggled with all my strength against the pull of Zira's thoughts: it had never been so important to remain in my own right mind.

"Well, this changes things, doesn't it?" whispered Silverfur.

Nobody spoke: I sensed the gang of Snatchers watching, frozen, and I felt Chris' arm trembling against mine; I groped for his hand, squeezing his fingers, relishing the pressure he returned. Silverfur took a couple of steps to where I sat, crouching down again to stare closely at my misshapen features.

"What's that on your forehead, Ursula?" he asked softly, his breath foul in my nostrils as he pressed a filthy finger to the taut scar.

"Don't touch it!" I yelled; I could not stop myself; I thought I might be sick from the pain of it.

"Well, can you believe it, girls?" rasped Silverfur. "We've caught her! We've caught Kiara Pride-Lander!"

They all took several steps backwards, stunned by what they had done. Seeing as I was still fighting to remain present inside my own splitting head, I could think of nothing to say, and thought it best to stay quiet, anyway: fragmented visions were breaking across the surface of my mind -

 _... she was gliding around the high walls of the black fortress -_

No, I was Kiara, tied up and wandless, in grave danger -

 _... looking up, up to the topmost window, the highest tower -_

I was Kiara, and they were discussing my fate in low voices -

 _... time to fly -_

"To the Ministry?"

"To hell with the Ministry," growled Silverfur. "They'll take the credit, and we won't get a look in. I say we take her straight to She-You-Know."

"Will you summon 'er? _'Ere?_ " said Scarro, sounding awed, terrified.

"No," snarled Silverfur, "I haven't got - they say she's using the Malty's place as a base. We'll take the girl there."

I thought I knew why Silverfur was not calling Zira. The Love Destroyer might be allowed to wear Love Destroyer robes when they wanted to use him, but only Zira's inner circle were branded with the Death Trail: Silverfur had not been granted this highest honour.

My scar seared again -

 _... and she rose into the night, flying straight up to the window at the very top of the tower -_

"... completely sure it's 'er? 'Cause if it ain't, Silverfur, we're dead."

"Who's in charge here?" roared Silverfur, covering his moment of inadequacy. "I say that's Pride-Lander, and her plus her wand, that's two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you're too gutless to come along, any of you, it's all for me, and with any luck, I'll get the boy thrown in!"

 _... the window was the merest slit in the black rock, not big enough for a woman to enter ... a skeletal figure was just visible through it, curled beneath a blanket ... dead or sleeping ...?_

"All right!" said Scarro. "All right, we're in! And what about the rest of 'em, Silverfur, what'll we do with 'em?"

"Might as well take the lot - "

"Really?" said Scarro, surprised. "Even dead legs over there? She doesn't look like she could last long - "

"Whether she survives or not on this trip is no matter," said Silverfur gruffly. "She's a Dawson, and therefore someone worth taking. Besides, she's a Sackbrain, too, so she's worth something, at least. So, we've got a Sackbrain and a Mudblood, that's another ten Galleons. Give me the sword, as well. If they're rubies, that's another small fortune right there."

The other prisoners and I were dragged to our feet. Chris and I grasped our hands tighter, neither of us daring to let go.

"Grab hold, and make it tight. I'll do Pride-Lander!" said Silverfur, seizing a fistful of my hair; I could feel his long, yellow nails scratching my scalp. "One - two - three - "

They Disapparated, pulling us prisoners with them. I struggled, trying to throw off Silverfur's hand, but it was hopeless: Chris, Sian and Chrissie were squeezed tightly against me on either side and behind me, I could not separate from the group, and as the breath was squeezed out of me my scar seared more painfully still -

 _... as she forced herself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapour, inside the cell-like room -_

The other prisoners and I lurched into one another as we landed in a country lane; Sian, now having little to nothing left inside her to chuck up, was gasping for air as she was dragged roughly along. My eyes, still puffy, took a moment to acclimatise, then I saw a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looked like a long drive. I experienced the tiniest trickle of relief. The worst had not happened yet: Zira was not here. She was, I knew, for I was fighting to resist the vision, in some strange, fortress-like place, at the top of a tower. How long it would take Zira to get to this place, once she knew that I was here, was another matter ...

One of the Snatchers strode to the gates and shook them.

"How do we get in? They're locked, Silverfur, I can't - blimey!"

She whipped her hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice: "State your purpose!"

"We've got Pride-Lander!" Silverfur roared triumphantly. "We've captured Kiara Pride-Lander!"

The gates swung open.

"Come on," said Silverfur to his cronies, and we prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled our footsteps. I saw a ghostly white shape above me, and I realised that it was an albino peacock. I stumbled and was dragged on to my feet by Silverfur; now I was staggering along sideways, tied back-to-back to the five other prisoners. Closing my puffy eyes I allowed the pain in my scar to overcome me for a moment, wanting to know what Zira was doing, whether she knew yet that I was caught -

 _... the emaciated figure stirred beneath its think blanket and rolled over towards her, eyes opening in a skull of a face ... the frail woman sat up, great sunken eyes fixed upon her, upon Zira, and then she smiled. Most of her teeth were gone ..._

 _"So, you have come. I thought you would ... one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it."_

 _"You lie!"_

As Zira's anger throbbed inside me, my scar threatened to burst open with pain, and I wrenched my mind back to my own body, fighting to remain present as the other prisoners and I were pushed over gravel.

Light spilled out over all of us.

"What is this?" said a man's cold voice.

"We're here to see She Who Must Not Be Named!" rasped Silverfur.

"Who are you?"

"You know me!" There was resentment in the werewolf's voice. "Rasputin Silverfur! We've caught Kiara Pride-Lander!"

Silverfur seized me and dragged me round to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle round too.

"I know she's swollen, sir, but it's 'er!" piped up Scarro. "If you look a bit closer, you'll see 'er scar. And this 'ere, see the girl? I know she looks a bit thin, sir, and 'er legs are dead, but that's the blood traitor Sackbrain who's been travelling around with 'er, sir. And that boy, sir? 'E's the 'alf-blood who's been with 'em, sir. There's no doubt it's 'er, and we've got 'er wand as well! 'Ere, sir - "

I saw Latchna Malty scrutinising my swollen face. Scarro thrust the blackthorn wand at him. He raised his eyebrows.

"Bring them in," he said.

The others and I were shoved and kicked (or, in Sian's case, dragged) up broad stone steps, into a hallway lined with portraits.

"Follow me," said Latchna, leading the way across the hall. "My daughter, Danielle, is home for her Easter holidays. If that is Kiara Pride-Lander, she will know."

The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with my eyes almost closed I could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as myself and the other prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.

"What is this?"

The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Narissa Malty fell on my ears. I was panicking now: I could see no way out, and it was easier, as my fear mounted, to block out Zira's thoughts, though my scar was still burning.

"They say they've got Pride-Lander," said Latchna's cold voice. "Dani, come here."

I did not dare look directly at Dani, but I saw her obliquely: a figure slightly taller than I was rising from an armchair, her face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blonde hair.

Silverfur forced us prisoners to turn again so as to place me directly beneath the chandelier.

"Well, girl?" rasped the werewolf.

I was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing with an intricately scrolled frame. Through the slits of my eyes, I saw my own reflection for the first time since leaving Warts House.

My face was huge, shiny and pink, every feature distorted by Chris' jinx. My golden hair was stretched right down my back and there was a dark shadow around my jaw. Had I not known that it was me who was stood there, I would have wondered who had my exact hair colour and natural style. I resolved not to speak, for my voice was sure to give me away; yet I still avoided eye contact with Dani as the latter approached.

"Well, Dani?" said Narissa Malty. She sounded avid. "Is it? Is it Kiara Pride-Lander?"

"I can't - I can't be sure," said Dani. She was keeping her distance from Silverfur, and seemed as scared of looking at me as I was of looking at her.

"But look at her carefully, look! Come closer!"

I had never heard Narissa Malty so excited.

"Dani, if we are the ones who hand Pride-Lander over to the Scarlet Lady, everything will be forgiv- "

"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught her, I hope, Mrs Malty?" said Silverfur menacingly.

"Of course not, of course not!" said Narissa impatiently. She approached me herself, came so close that I could see the usually languid, pale face in sharp detail even through my swollen eyes. With my face a puffy mask, I felt as though I was peering out from between the bars of a cage.

"What did you do to her?" Narissa asked Silverfur. "How did she get into this state?"

"That wasn't us."

"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," said Narissa.

Her grey eyes raked my forehead.

"There's something there," she whispered, "it could be the scar, stretched tight ... Dani, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

I saw Dani's face up close, now, right beside her mother's. They were extraordinarily alike, except that while her mother looked beside herself with excitement, Dani's expression was full of reluctance, even fear.

"I don't know," she said, and she walked away towards the fireplace where her father stood watching.

"We had better be certain, Narissa," Latchna called to his wife in his cold, clear voice. "Completely sure that it is Pride-Lander, before we summon the Scarlet Lady ... They say this is hers," he was looking closely at the blackthorn wand, "but it does not resemble Wandwick's description ... If we are mistaken, if we call the Scarlet Lady here for nothing ... remember what she did to Roscoe and Dali?"

"What about the Sackbrain, then?" growled Silverfur. I was nearly thrown off my feet as the Snatchers forced us prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Sian instead. "I know that she looks like she's on her last legs now, but - "

"Wait!" said Latchna sharply. There was a pause, and I could tell that he was studying Sian closely. At last he said, "Yes - yes, I think it's here! I remember her being in Sir Waldin's with Pride-Lander! I saw her picture in the _Squabbler_! Look, Dani, isn't that the Eldest Dawson Girl?"

"I ... maybe ... yeah."

"But then, that's the other Dawson girl! And that's the Rickers boy!" shouted Narissa, striding round we bound prisoners to face Chris and Chrissie. "It's them, Pride-Lander's friends - Dani look at them, aren't they two of Matthew Dawson's children, what are their names - ?"

"Yeah," said Dani again, her back to we prisoners. "It could be."

The drawing-room door opened behind me. A woman spoke, and the sound of the voice wound my fear to an even higher pitch.

"What is this? What happened, Latchy?"

Katalina Outsider walked slowly around us prisoners, and stopped on my right, staring at Sian through her heavily lidded eyes, and Sian, I could just see, looked terrified at the sight of her, not that I could blame her.

"But surely," she said quietly, after a few moments, "this is the Sackbrain girl? This is the Eldest Dawson Girl?"

"Is that all you know me as, Outsider?" came Sian's hoarse voice suddenly.

Everyone was silent, listening and watching Sian intently, all looking at her with looks of mingled curiosity, interest and confusion as to what she was talking about. Katalina then knelt down in front of Sian, confusion and curiosity marking her own features now.

"What are you talking about, girl?" she snapped at Sian. "Should I know you?"

"Yes, I believe you should," said Sian simply, looking up at her. "After all, I haven't forgotten about you, not once these past thirteen years, so I'm quite surprised that you have forgotten about me."

Sian stared at Katalina intently. I watched as Katalina studied Sian slowly, carefully, until, at last, a spark of recognition flashed in her eyes. She then stood up quickly, cackling madly, her eyes gleaming with evil mirth and triumph.

"Oh, this is precious!" she trilled to the room at large. "I can't believe I haven't recognised Susan Crighton's eldest child, the one who, though some of you here won't know it, the Scarlet Lady asked me to get information out of about her _darling_ mother as soon as she was old enough to talk properly, and then, once I had got everything I needed out of her," Katalina grinned maliciously at Sian, "... to kill her."

I glanced at Sian, whose face remained composed, though I was sure I saw a glimpse of fear in her eyes.

"Crighton saved her, though, didn't she?" Latchna said.

"Yes, Latchy, she did," Katalina growled. "And how she screamed and how she cried for her mother, but what more can you expect from a sweet, innocent girl of four?" Katalina then turned her head at a chillingly slow pace back to Sian, her evil, malicious grin back in place. Then, without warning, she lunged for Sian's right arm, but Sian leaned as back as she could go, given that she was tied up, just in time, her face a mask of mixed anger and fear.

"It still hurts, doesn't it?" said Katalina tauntingly. Sian said nothing, but kept glaring at her.

I, however, was remembering something, something that Sian herself had told me a little over a year ago: _"When I was a little girl, I was cursed by a witch ..."_ I then thought back to all the times we had either seen Katalina or talked about her, and I remembered how scared Sian would get, no matter how hard she would try to deny it ...

Could it be true? Was Katalina Outsider the woman of Sian's nightmares, just as Zira was with mine? I caught Sian's eye then: she seemed to know what I was thinking, for she blinked once before turning quickly back to face Outsider.

"So what happened to you then, _Siany_ , to look like this?" Katalina said tauntingly, her eyes hungry, still wearing that evil grin. "For surely you haven't always looked like a rotten corpse?"

Jeers and laughter met this comment; Sian bowed her head, unwilling to answer, but Scarro said, "She won't tell us, ma'am. She says we wouldn't believe 'er if she told us."

"Really?" said Katalina curiously to Scarro. "That's interesting ..." Then, turning her attention back to Sian, she said, "So, who made you like this? Oh, don't tell me, don't tell me, it was your _darling_ mother?"

Sian raised her head, looked Katalina straight in the eye and said bleakly, "In a manner of speaking."

Katalina's eyes widened with delicious surprise. "Do you hear this?" she said delightedly. "Do you hear this, Latchy? The once great Susan Crighton kills her own daughter! Can you imagine what the Scarlet Lady will say when she hears about this? So, the rumours about Crighton being no good must be true then, if this is what happens to her _most beloved_ \- "

"Don't you dare speak of my mother like that!" Sian spat. "She may have done some bad things in her youth, but she's not all - "

"You are in no position to speak that way, girly!" snapped Katalina, striking Sian across the face: Sian did not yell, but her face bore a red mark on her deathly-pale cheek. Straightening up, Katalina smirked evilly and said, "So it appears I'll be finishing the job I started in the first place, Siany, and this time your mother won't be around to stop me."

Sian said nothing, but bowed her head, her face conveying nothing but sadness and hopelessness. Still keeping her gaze on Sian, Katalina said, "Who else do we have with us? Do we know any of them?"

"Yes, we think that's Pride-Lander beside her!" cried Narissa. "Pride-Lander and her friends caught at last!"

"Pride-Lander?" shrieked Katalina, and she backed away, the better to take me in. "Are you sure? Well, then, the Scarlet Lady must be informed at once!"

She dragged back her left sleeve: I saw the Death Trail burned into the flesh of her arm, and I knew that she was about to touch it, to summon her beloved mistress -

"I was about to call her!" said Narissa, and her hand actually closed upon Katalina's wrist, preventing her from touching the Trail. " _I_ shall summon her, Katie, Pride-Lander has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority - "

"Your authority!" she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from Narissa's grasp. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Narissa! How dare you! Take your hands off me!"

"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the girl - "

"Begging your pardon, _Mrs_ Malty," interjected Silvefur, "but it's us that caught Pride-Lander, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold - "

"Gold!" laughed Katalina, still attempting to throw off her sister-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of her - of - "

She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon something I could not see. Jubilant of her capitulation, Narissa threw her hand from her and ripped up her own sleeve -

"STOP!" shrieked Katalina. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Scarlet Lady comes now!"

Narissa froze, her index finger hovering over her own Trail. Katalina strode out of my limited line of vision.

"What is that?" I heard her say.

"Sword," grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher.

"Give it to me."

"It's not yours, Missus, it's mine, I reckon I found it."

There was a bang and a flash of red light: I knew that the Snatcher had been Stunned. There was a roar of anger from her fellows: Scarro drew her wand.

"What d'you think you're playing at, woman?"

 _"Stupefy,"_ she screamed, _"stupefy!"_

They were no match for her, even though there were four of them against one of her: she was a witch, as I knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fell where they stood, all except Silverfur, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Out of the corners of my eyes, I saw Katalina bearing down upon the werewolf, the sword of Lion-Heart gripped tightly in her hand, her face waxen.

"Where did you get this sword?" she whispered to Silverfur as she pulled his wand out of his unresisting grip.

"How dare you?" he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. "Release me, woman!"

"Where did you find this sword?" she repeated, brandishing it in his face. "Triphorm sent it to my vault in Fauntrotts!"

"It was in their tent!" rasped Silverfur. "Release me, I say!"

She waved her wand and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy, curved nails clutching its back.

"Dani, move this scum outside," said Katalina, indicating the unconscious women. "If you haven't the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."

"Don't you dare speak to Dani like - " said Latchna furiously, but Katalina screamed, "Be quiet! the situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Latchy! We have a very serious problem!"

She stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turned to look at us silent prisoners.

"If it is indeed Pride-Lander, she must not be harmed," she muttered, more to herself than to the rest of us. "The Scarlet Lady wishes to dispose of Pride-Lander herself ... but if she finds out ... I must ... I must know ..."

She turned back to her brother again.

"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!"

"This is my house, Katie, you don't give orders in my - "

"Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!" shrieked Katalina: she looked frightening, mad; a thin stream of fire issued from her wand and burned a hole in the carpet.

Latchna hesitated for a moment, then addressed the werewolf.

"Take the prisoners down to the cellar, Silverfur."

"Wait," said Katalina sharply. "All except ... except for the Sackbrain."

Silverfur gave a grunt of pleasure.

"No!" shouted Chris. "You can have me, keep me!"

"Or me!" yelled Chrissie. "You can have either of us, just please, please don't harm our sister! She's dying!"

Katalina hit them both across the face; the blows echoed around the room.

"If she dies under questioning, I'll take either of you next," she said. "Blood traitor is next to Sackbrain in my book, and the fact that your sister is both is an added bonus. Take them downstairs, Silverfur, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them - yet."

She threw Silverfur's wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Sian free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room while Silverfur forced the rest of us to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.

"Reckon she'll let me have a bit of your sister when she's finished with her?" Silverfur crooned, as he forced us along the corridor. "Mind you, I'm not too sure I'll be wanting a scrap or two, seeing how much meat is currently left on her bones ... but I could always take you two, couldn't I? Eh, brunette, sandy?"

I could feel Chris and Chrissie shaking. We were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking our necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Silverfur unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced us into a dank and musty room and left us in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn-out scream from directly above us.

"SIAN!" Chrissie bellowed, and she started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying us together, so that I staggered. "SIAN!"

"Be quiet!" I said. "Shut up, Chrissie, we need to work out a way - "

"SIAN! SIAN!"

"Chrissie, Kiara's right," said Chris desperately. "I'm worried about Sian too, but we need to calm down and think of a plan - we need to get these ropes off - "

"Kiara?" came a whisper through the darkness. "Chris? Chrissie? Is that you?"

Chrissie stopped shouting. There was a sound of movement close by us, then I saw a shadow moving closer.

"Chris? Kiara? Chrissie?"

 _"Lincoln?"_

"Yes, it's me! Oh, no, I didn't want you to be caught!"

"Lincoln, can you help us get these ropes off?" I said.

"Oh, yes, I expect so ... there's an old nail we use if we need to break anything ... just a moment ..."

Sian screamed again from overhead, and we could hear Katalina screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Chrissie shouted again, "SIAN! SIAN!"

"Madam Wandwick?" I could hear Lincoln saying. "Madam Wandwick, have you got the nail? If you just move over a little bit ... I think it was beside the water jug ..."

He was back within seconds.

"You'll need to stay still," he said.

I could feel him digging at the rope's tough fibres to work the knots free. From upstairs we heard Katalina's voice.

"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? _Where?_ "

"We found it - we found it - PLEASE!" Sian screamed again; Chrissie struggled harder than ever and the rusty nail slipped on to my wrist.

"Chrissie, please stay still!" Lincoln whispered. "I can't see what I'm doing - "

"My pocket!" said Chrissie. "In my pocket, there's a Deluminator, and it's full of light!"

A few seconds later, there was a click and the luminescent spheres the Deluminator had sucked from the lamps in the tent flew into the cellar: unable to rejoin their sources they simply hung there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. I saw Lincoln, all eyes in his white face, and the motionless figure of Wandwick the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Craning round, I caught sight of our fellow prisoners: Dena and Grimzhan the faun, who seemed barely conscious, kept standing by the ropes that bound her to us humans.

"Oh, that's much easier, thanks Chrissie," said Lincoln, and he began hacking at our bindings again. "Hello, Dena!"

From above came Katalina's voice.

"You are lying, filthy Sackbrain, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Fauntrotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth_!"

Another terrible scream -

"SIAN!"

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth, or I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"

"There!"

I felt the ropes fall away and turned, rubbing my wrists, to see Chrissie running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching fro a trapdoor, as Chris stood beside me, watching her every move. Dena, her face bruised and bloody, said, "Thanks," to Lincoln and stood there, shivering, but Grimzhan sank on to the cellar floor looking groggy and disorientated, many welts across her swarthy face.

Chrissie was now trying to Disapparate without a wand.

"There's no way out, Chrissie," said Lincoln, watching her fruitless efforts. "The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Madam Wandwick has been here for a long time, she's tried everything."

Sian was screaming again: the sound went through me like physical pain. Barely conscious of the fierce prickling of my scar, I, too, started to run around the cellar, feeling the walls for I hardly knew what, knowing in my heart that it was useless.

"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"

Sian's screams echoed off the walls upstairs, Chrissie was half sobbing in Chris' arms, and I, in utter desperation, seized Mina's pouch from around my neck and groped inside it: I pulled out Crighton's Snitch and shook it, hoping for I did not know what - nothing happened; I waved the broken halves of the phoenix wand, but they were lifeless - the mirror fragment fell sparkling to the floor, and I saw a gleam of brightest green -

Crighton's eye was gazing at me out of the mirror.

"Help us!" I yelled at it in made desperation. "We're in the cellar of Malty Manor, help us!"

The eye blinked, and was gone.

I was not even sure that it had really been there. I tilted the shard of mirror this way and that, and saw nothing reflected there but the walls and ceiling of our prison, and upstairs Sian was screaming worse than ever, and next to me, Chrissie was bellowing, "SIAN! SIAN!"

"How did you get into my vault?" we heard Katalina scream. "Did that dirty little faun in the cellar help you?"

"We only ... met her ... tonight!" Sian sobbed. "We've never ... been inside ... your vault ... it isn't the ... real sword! It's a copy, just a ... copy!"

"A copy!" screeched Katalina. "Oh, a likely story!"

"But we can find out easily!" came Narissa's voice. "Dani, fetch the faun, she can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"

I dashed across the cellar to where Grimzhan was huddled on the floor.

"Grimzhan," I whispered into the faun's flapping goatlike ear, "you must tell them that the sword's a fake, they mustn't know it's the real one, Grimzhan, please - "

I could hear someone scuttling down the cellar steps; next moment, Dani's shaking voice spoke from behind the door.

"Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything, or I'll kill you!"

We did as we were bidden; as the lock turned Chrissie clicked the Deluminator and the lights whisked back into her pocket, restoring the cellar's darkness. The door flew open; Malty marched inside, wand held out in front of her, pale and determined. She seized the tall faun by the arm and backed out again, dragging Grimzhan with her. The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud _crack_ echoed inside the cellar.

Chrissie clicked the Deluminator. Three balls of light flew back into the air from her pocket, revealing Dokey the house-elf, who had just Apparated into our midst.

"DOK-!"

I hit Chrissie on the arm to stop her shouting, and Chrissie looked terrified at her mistake. Footsteps crossed the ceiling overhead: Dani marching Grimzhan to Katalina.

Dokey's enormous, tennis-ball-shaped eyes were wide; she was trembling from her feet to the tips of her ears. She was back in the home of her old masters, and it was clear that she was petrified.

"Kiara Pride-Lander," she squeaked, in the tiniest quiver of a voice, "Dokey has come to rescue you."

"But how did you - ?"

An awful scream drowned my words: Sian was being tortured again. I cut to the essentials.

"You can Disapparate out of this cellar?" I asked Dokey, who nodded, her ears flapping.

"And you can take humans with you?" Dokey nodded again.

"Right. Dokey, I want you to grab Lincoln, Dena and Madam Wandwick, and take them - take them to - "

"Sam and Ferdinand's," said Chrissie. "Sandwaves Cottage on the outskirts of Portmeirlon!"

The elf nodded for a third time.

"And then come back," I said. "Can you do that, Dokey?"

"Of course, Kiara Pride-Lander," whispered the little elf. She hurried over to Madam Wandwick, who appeared to be barely conscious. She took one of the wandmaker's hands in her own, then held out the other to Lincoln and Dena, neither of whom moved.

"Kiara, we want to help you!" Lincoln whispered.

"We can't leave you here," said Dena.

"Go, both of you! We'll see you are Sam and Ferdinand's."

As I spoke, my scar burned worse than ever, and for a few seconds I looked down, not upon the wandmaker, but on another woman who was just as old, just as thin, but laughing scornfully.

 _"Kill me, then, Zira, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek ... there is so much you do not understand ..."_

I felt Zira's fury, but as Sian screamed again I shut it out, returning to the cellar and the horror of my own present.

"Go!" I beseeched Lincoln and Dena. "Go! We'll follow, just go!"

They caught hold of the elf's outstretched fingers. There was another loud _crack_ , and Dokey, Lincoln, Dena and Wandwick vanished.

"What was that?" shouted Narissa Malty from over our heads. "Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?"

Chris, Chrissie and I stared at each other.

"Dani - no, call the Absters! Make them go and check!"

Footsteps crossed the room overhead, then there was silence. I knew that the people in the drawing room were listening for more voices from the cellar.

"We're going to have to try and tackle them," I whispered to Chris and Chrissie. We had no choice: the moment anyone entered the room and saw the absence of three prisoners, we were lost. "Leave the lights on," I added, and as we heard the footsteps of two people descending the steps outside the door, we backed against the wall on either side of it: Chris and I on one side, Chrissie on the other.

"Stand back," came Alice Abster's harsh voice. "Stand away frim the door. We are coming in."

The door flew open. For a split second, the Abster's gazed into the apparently empty cellar, ablaze with light from the three miniature suns floating in mid-air. Then Chris, Chrissie and I launched ourselves upon them. Chrissie seized Wormy's wand arm and forced it upwards, Chris doing the same with Alice's, then covering her mouth with his free hand. Meanwhile, I slapped a hand over Wormy's mouth, muffling his voice. Silently Chris and Alice and Chrissie, Wormy and I struggled: Wormy's wand emitted sparks; his silver hand closed around my throat.

"What is it, Absters?" called Narissa Malty from above.

"Nothing, Narissa!" Chrissie called back, in a passable imitation of Alice's harsh voice. "All is well! Just Abster being his usual pathetic, cowardly self!"

Alice fixed her glare on Chrissie instead of Chris, and I was barely breathing.

"You're going to kill me?" I choked, attempting to prise off the metal fingers. "After I saved both your lives? You owe me, Absters!"

The silver fingers slackened. I had not expected it: I wrenched myself free, astonished, keeping my hand over Wormy's mouth. I saw the rat-like man's small, watery eyes widen with fear and surprise: he seemed just as shocked as I at what his hand had done, at the tiny, merciful impulse it had betrayed, and he continued to struggle more powerfully, as though to undo that moment of weakness.

"And we'll have that," whispered Chrissie, tugging Wormy's wand from his other hand.

Wandless, helpless, Wormy's pupils dilated in terror. His eyes had slid from my face to something else. His own silver fingers were moving inexorably towards his own throat.

"What are you doing, Abster?" hissed Alice, who had successfully wriggled out of Chris' grip. "Don't tell me you're going to be a coward and listen to Pride-Lander, are you, you pathetic lump?"

Wormy froze. Then, ever so slowly, he turned to Alice. Gone was the terror that had masked his face. Now his whole face was alight in a blazing fury that none of us had ever seen before as he turned to his wife. Alice's normal hardened expression turned to one of pure surprise, and as her eyebrows went up to her hairline, the grip on her wand slackened, and it dropped to the floor, unnoticed by either of the Absters. Chris quickly picked it up as Wormy slowly walked to his wife.

"Abster, what are you doing?" Alice growled, trying to gain control of the situation. "Stop this right now!"

But Wormy did not listen to her, and when he was in touching distance of his wife, both his hands clasped, tight, around his wife's throat.

Alice's eyes widened with shock for a split second. Then, her expression turned fierce, and she put her hands around her husband's throat, clenching it in a vice-like grip.

As husband and wife fell to the floor, throttling each other, Chris, Chrissie and I ran forward, trying to separate them, but they were both too strong. After realising that nothing we could do was going to stop them, Chris, Chrissie and I stood back, panting, watching the Absters wrestle on the floor, their faces slowly turning blue. At last, as Sian gave a dreadful scream from overhead, Alice and Wormy's eyes rolled upwards in their purple faces, before both of them gave a final twitch and were still.

Chris, Chrissie and I looked at each other, then, leaving the Absters' bodies on the floor behind us, we ran up the stairs and back into the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing room. Cautiously we crept along it, until we reached the drawing-room door, which was ajar. Now we had a clear view of Katalina looking down at Grimzhan, who was holding Lion-Heart's sword in her long-fingered hands. Sian was lying at Katalina's feet. She was barely stirring; if it hadn't been for the slight, rapid rise and fall of her chest, I would have thought she was dead.

"Well?" Katalina said to Grimzhan. "Is it the true sword?"

I waited, holding my breath, fighting against the prickling of my scar.

"No," said Grimzhan. "It is a fake."

"Are you sure?" panted Katalina. "Quite sure?"

"Yes," said the faun.

Relief broke across her face, all tension drained from it.

"Good," she said, and with a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut into the faun's face, and she dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked her aside. "And now," she said, in a voice that burst with triumph, "we call the Scarlet Lady!"

And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Death Trail.

At once, my scar felt as though it had split open again. My true surroundings vanished: I was Zira, and the skeletal witch before her was laughing toothlessly at her; she was enraged at the summons she felt - she had warned them, she had told them to summon her for nothing less than Pride-Lander. If they were mistaken ...

 _"Kill me, then!"_ demanded the old woman. _"You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours - "_

And her fury broke: a burst of green light filled the prison room and the frail old body was lifted from its hard bed and then fell back, lifeless, and she returned to the window, her wrath barely controllable ... they would suffer her retribution if they had no good reason for calling her back ...

"And I think," said Katalina's voice, calling me back to my own mind, body and dangerous situation, "we can dispose of the Sackbrain. Silverfur, I would have offered her to you, but I don't think you'll have much fun with her, given her condition, so it looks like I'll have to finish her off instead."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Chris and Chrissie had burst into the drawing room; Katalina looked round, shocked; she turned her wand to face Chrissie instead -

 _"Expelliarmus!"_ she roared, pointing Wormy's wand at Katalina, and hers flew into the air, which I caught after sprinting after Chris and Chrissie. Narissa, Latchna, Dani and Silverfur whirled about; Chris and I yelled, _"Stupefy!"_ at exactly the same moment, and Narissa and Latchna Malty collapsed on to the hearth. Jets of light flew from Dani and Silverfur's wands; Chris, Chrissie and I duelled them both, spells flying in all directions, hitting furniture, the walls, the mirror, everything they could hit, until -

"STOP OR SHE DIES!"

Panting, I looked round. Katalina was supporting Sian, who seemed unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife directly over Sian's heart.

"Drop your wands," she whispered. "Drop them, or we'll see how many beats her frail heart still has left!"

Chris, Chrissie and I all stood there, rigid, they holding the Abster's wands, and I holding Katalina's.

"I said, drop them!" she screeched, the blade now right against Sian's chest.

"All right!" I shouted, and I dropped Katalina's wand on to the floor at my feet. Chris and Chrissie's then did the same with the Abster's. The three of us raised our hands to shoulder height.

"Good!" she leered. "Dani, pick them up! The Scarlet Lady is coming, Kiara Pride-Lander! Your death approaches!"

I knew it; my scar was burning with the pain of it, and I could feel Zira flying through the sky from far away, over a dark and stormy sea, and soon she would be close enough to Apparate to us, and I could see no way out.

"Now," said Katalina softly, as Dani hurried back with the wands, "Silverfur, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while I take care of Miss Sackbrain. I am sure the Scarlet Lady will not begrudge you those two next to Pride-Lander, Silverfur, after what you have done tonight."

At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of us looked up in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Katalina was directly beneath it; dropping Sian, she threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Sian and the faun, who still clutched the sword of Lion-Heart. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions: Dani doubled over, her hands covering her bloody face.

As Chris and Chrissie ran to pull Sian and Grimzhan out of the wreckage, I took my chance; I leapt over an armchair and wrested the four wands from Dani's grip, pointed all of them at Silverfur and yelled, _"Stupefy!"_ The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the quadruple spell, flew up to the ceiling and then smashed to the ground.

As Dani was crawling out of harm's way, Katalina sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife, but quickly stopped as she looked at the doorway.

"Dokey!" came a man's voice. Unbeknownst to any of us, Latchna Malty had come round and had got back to his feet. His voice had nothing but shock. "You! _You_ dropped the chandelier - ?"

The tiny elf trotted into the room, her shaking finger pointing directly at her old master.

"You must not harm Kiara Pride-Lander!" she squeaked.

"Kill her, Latchy!" shrieked Katalina, but there was another loud _crack_ , and Latchna's wand, too, flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room.

"You dirty little monkey!" bawled Katalina. "How dare you take a wizard's wand, how dare you defy your masters?"

"Dokey has no master!" squealed the elf. "Dokey is a free elf, and Dokey has come to save Kiara Pride-Lander and her friends!"

My scar was blinding me with pain. Dimly, I knew that we had moments, seconds before Zira was with us.

"Chris, Chrissie, catch - and GO!" I yelled, throwing them a wand each: Chrissie caught both of them, seeing as Grimzhan was on her back, and Chris had his arms full of Sian. As Chrissie passed Chris one of the wands, I seized Dokey's hand and I spin on the spot to Disapparate.

As I turned into the darkness, I caught one last view of the drawing room: of the pale, frozen figures of Latchna and Dani, of the streak of brown that was Chrissie's hair, and a blue of flying silver, as Katalina's knife flew across the room at the place where I was vanishing -

 _Sam and Ferdinand's ... Sandwaves Cottage ... Sam and Ferdinand's ..._

I had disappeared into the unknown; all I could do was repeat the name of the destination and hope that it would suffice to take me there. The pain in my forehead pierced me, as Dokey's hand jerked in mine; I wondered whether the elf was trying to take charge, to pull us in the right direction, and I tried, by squeezing her fingers, to indicate that that was fine with me ...

And then we hit solid earth and smelt salty air. I fell to my knees and relinquished Dokey's hand, as Chris put Sian's legs on the ground and Chrissie lay Grimzhan gently to the ground.

"Are you all right?" I said, as the faun stirred, but Grimzhan merely whimpered.

I squinted around through the darkness. There seemed to be a cottage a short way away under the wide, starry sky, and I thought I saw a movement outside it.

"Dokey, is this Sandwaves Cottage?" I whispered, clutching the two wands I had brought from the Maltys', ready to fight if I needed to. Have we come to the right place? Dokey?"

I looked around. The little elf stood feet from me.

"DOKEY!"

The elf swayed slightly, stars reflected in her wide, shining eyes. Together, she and I looked down at the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf's heaving chest.

"Dokey - no - HELP!" I bellowed towards the cottage, towards the people moving there. "HELP!"

I did not know or care whether they were wizards or Muggles, friends or foes; all I cared about was that there was a dark stain was spreading across Dokey's front, and that she had stretched out her thin arms to me with a look of supplication. I caught her and laid her sideways on the cool grass.

"Dokey, no, don't die, don't die - "

The elf's eyes found mine, and her lips trembled with the effort to form words.

"Kiara ... Pride-Lander ..."

And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and her eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sparkled with light from the stars they could not see.

At that precise moment, Sian, who was holding on to Chris, appeared to be stirring. And then, quite suddenly, she went completely limp in his arms again, her breath now coming in great, sharp, gasping rasps of air.


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: So, here is one of my favourite chapters to have written for this series. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I spent a lot of time working on it, getting everything right so as to make it a strong chapter, and I hope you all will believe it to be a strong chapter, too. There are a few spiritual elements in here, and I should say that I am using two songs from two different genres in the film and television worlds here: the first one is called _A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal_ from the Disney Pixar film _Brave_ (research the lyrics in English if you want to know because I will not be revealing them here, for reasons that I shall reveal in the second part of this book), and the second song features some of the lyrics from _The Long Song_ , which is used in one of my favourite episodes from _Doctor Who_ , which is _The Rings of Akhaten_ , which you should check out if you have not seen it. So, enjoy the penultimate chapter of the first part of book seven and I shall update the same time next week. **

**Chapter 26**

 **The Power of A Mother's Love**

 **KIARA**

Chris carefully caught Sian and laid her sown gently to the ground, as Chrissie and I looked on in shock. Knowing there was nothing more I could do for Dokey, I bowed my head to her before laying her on the ground, getting up and running to Chris and Chrissie. I knelt beside them, looking down at Sian's sickly thin body, and as I was looking at her, hoping against hope that this was not happening, Sian opened her eyes as her breath started coming in sharp, quick gasps; it was almost as if her heart was speeding its way towards death judging from the way her chest was rising and falling.

To my surprise, there was no pain or sadness in Sian's eyes: instead there was acceptance and a sense of peace that had settled around her. She knew it was her time to go, and she was not afraid, and as her eyes fell on Chris, Chrissie and I, a smile bloomed, a true, honest smile that seemed to say, "don't be sad for me, and don't be afraid," before she closed her eyes and, as her head fell back and before the last breath left her body, there was a blinding flash of white light that washed over her. Chris, Chrissie and I quickly covered our eyes from it, and when it had gone we opened our eyes and looked at Sian, who moved no more.

As Chrissie fell against Chris, sobbing earnestly, I sat there, stunned. I couldn't believe it. Sian ... dead? It was all too much for me to take in ... all too soon after Dokey ...

But then, as we sat there, consumed in our grief, we heard distant music playing that grew louder by the second, music that sound like it was some sort of Celtic lullaby, which sounded vaguely familiar to me, but I could not remember where I had heard it before. As Chris, Chrissie and I stood up, all of us looking around for the source of the music, I saw Chris and Chrissie look at each other, their mouths open in a silent gasp.

"What is it?" I asked them, wanting to know what had them both so shocked.

"I can't believe it ..." Chrissie whispered.

"It's come back after all these years," mumbled Chris, just as stunned.

"What has?" I asked impatiently, wanting desperately to know what this music was. "How do you guys know this music? And why is it so important to you?"

"Because it's the lullaby our mother used to sing to Sian whenever she came home, and every night before she fell asleep when we were kids," said Chris.

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. The amount of times we heard them sing it together at night, how could we not know it?" said Chrissie.

The music kept on growing around us, and as it did, something bright green emerged out of nowhere in the starry sky, which started out as a small green speck and grew bigger as it flew, slowly and gracefully, towards us and landed just as gracefully besides Sian's body. Chris, Chrissie and I stood out of the way as she landed, and watched as the light turned into a phoenix, which then started turning into a woman, a woman who was no longer on this earth, but the transformation did not reach her head, which remained that of a phoenix. Her fingers ever so gently touched Sian's face, and tears came to her eyes, which fell slowly on to her like dew drops; and she kept crying, even as she sung, as the music reached the end of the introduction, for what came out of her was not a soft musical cry or the phoenix song, but a voice, a _human_ voice, singing a hauntingly beautiful song, the likes of which I had never heard before.

 _"A naiodhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth,_

 _Mise ri d'thaobh, o mhaighdean bahn_

 _Ar righinn oig, fas as faic_

 _Do thir, dileas fhein_

 _A ghrian a's a ghealaich, stuir sinn_

 _Gu uair at clui s ar gloire_

 _Naoidhean bhig, ar righinn oig_

 _Mhaighdean uashaill bhan."_

I did not understand a word of what was said, but it was sung so beautifully and with such love and conviction that I honestly did not care, and as she stopped singing, the music stopped too. Her tears stopped falling and her head became that of a human woman's, but not just any woman: Susan Crighton.

Crighton looked down at her daughter, smiling gently at her, but when Sian did not move, she began to shake her, saying as she did so, "Sian, darling, can you hear me? It's your mother, _magi_. Please, please come back, Sian! Oh, I don't understand why this hasn't worked - I was sure that this would save her ..."

As Crighton spoke, I thought back to that flash of light that passed over Sian's body before she took her last breath, and it got me thinking ... maybe that wasn't normal light ... maybe, just maybe, that was a spell of some kind, a spell powerful enough to stop her heart before she died, in order to test Crighton. And if that were true, then that would mean that this was the Oracle's plan, and that that flash was all down to him. But Crighton did not, and could not, know that, not now at least. So, looking back at Crighton, who was still shaking Sian as tears came to her eyes, I decided to tell her what I thought was the cause of this.

"Ma'am, the reason this hasn't worked is because you hurt Sian so deeply that healing her is not enough, and right now she deserves more than that. After all, you're the reason she's like this, ma'am, and Sian deserves a decent apology from you, now more than ever! You need to make this right, ma'am, and what better time than now to do so."

Crighton looked at me, shocked, not only by what I had just said, but also if she were remembering something that only now made sense to her; and as I looked at her, in that moment I did not see her as an old woman, rather as a lost little girl who was searching for an answer as to what to do. At last, she nodded, took a deep breath and looked back at Sian, and the next words she spoke were said directly to her.

"My darling girl ... I really don't know what to say here, but I'm going to speak from the heart and hope that it counts.

"Sian, you have always been stronger, smarter and wiser than I could ever hope to be. Look at what you said to me when you were fourteen, when you told me not to let Kiara compete in the Triwizard Tournament, because terrible things would happen and that I would regret it if I did. But I ignored you, because I was blinded by my own judgement, thinking that I was doing the right thing. But I was wrong. And yet here I am, making that same mistake again, to you this time. My darling, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for all the pain I have caused you. It was not fair and you did not deserve it.

"You know, Sian, I don't know if I told you this, but the day you were born your father held you in his arms and told you that he had a feeling you were going to be very special to us. At the time I did not believe him, but now I ... I finally understand what he said, for you have no idea just how special and important you are, _magi_ , not just to your family but to the rest of the world, too. You have no idea how proud you've made us, Sian, even through the mistakes your father and I have made with you, not once have you complained. You have faced every challenge that has come your way with your head held high and a brave face, and I wish that I was as brave as you, my darling. But it's not just me who needs you, Sian ... Chris, Chrissie, Kiara, Kopa ... your father ... your brothers and sisters ... there are so many people who need you, Sian ... this is why you must come back ..."

Crighton could say no more, for she buried her face in Sian's hair as her sobs took over. Sam, Ferdinand, Dena and Lincoln had joined us by this point and had everything Crighton had just said, and they were crying, along with Chris, Chrissie and I. My scar was burning still, but I would focus on that later, for it was Sian who mattered in that moment. I knew, of course, how much Sian loved her mother, but it was not until this moment that I understood just how much Crighton loved Sian.

Crighton then raised her head and sobbed, "P-p-please f-forgive me, m-my darling ... I'm s-so sorry ... f-for not being there for you when you n-n-needed me m-most ... come b-back to us, Sian, p-please ... I love you!"

And as she spoke, a tear fell, turning red and gold as it did, landing right in the middle of Sian's forehead. It remained bright for a moment, then the colour faded, leaving it a normal-looking tear. But then, something amazing happened: the tear that had fallen last glowed red and gold again, only this time it was brighter than before, and its light hit the other tears, making them glow red and gold too, before they seemed to seep through Sian's skin and move through her entire body.

Then, suddenly, Sian's body was glowing a bright golden glow, so bright that we all had to cover our eyes, for it felt like we were being blinded by the sun. Through my narrowed eyes, I could just make out the outline of a hairbobble flying away into the night to who knows where. Then, just as quickly as it had started, the light vanished, leaving us all momentarily blinded. We all blinked hard or rubbed our eyes, so as to clear our vision of the white spots behind our eyes that prevented us from seeing anything.

When my eyes cleared, I gazed down at Sian and gasped, amazed by what I saw. Chris, Chrissie, Crighton, Sam, Ferdinand, Lincoln and Dena all looked at me, but I kept my gaze focused on Sian. Following my eyes, they all gasped when they saw Sian too, for her body, which had looked sickly-thin, fragile and pale only moments ago, now looked healthy: her skin no longer looked like it was attached to her bones; there was healthy colour in her cheeks again and her hair looked no longer lanky, lifeless and matted, but smooth, silky shiny and full of life, that looked straight and curled inwardly at the ends, looking just like it used to, and it seemed to breathe in time with every steady beat that her healthy heart made.

Looking just like the old Sian used to.

I then turned to Crighton, who touched Sian's cheek tentatively, anxiously, almost afraid of putting too much pressure on her in case she broke into a million pieces. We all looked at Sian too, and the longer we looked at her, the more we realise that she was not waking up.

"Why isn't she waking? She should be awake by now, judging by her heart, right?" said Chrissie.

"Under normal circumstances, Christina, yes, she should be," said Crighton, "but there is nothing normal about this particular situation."

"But then, what more is there to it?" I asked. "And who was it that helped save her apart from you, ma'am?"

"That," said a powerful, mystical voice out of nowhere, "would be me."

And then, as we all looked around for the source of the voice, a bright white light filled up the sky, obscuring the stars, and three figures descended from it, landing gracefully not ten feet from us, all wearing the same light green robe.

I recognised the middle figure almost instantly: quite a short man, who, though he looked young, his eyes told a different, far older story, and right now they looked sharp and serious, and I knew that he was the one who had spoken. He was completely bald and had a tattoo of a charm of some sort on either side of his head where his sideburns should have been. This man was, I knew, the Oracle.

The other two figures standing on either side of him I had never seen before. The man on the right was tall and old, as old as the Oracle, though I could not tell. He had long white hair and a beard to match, and his expression was as sharp and as sombre as the Oracle's.

The woman on the left of the Oracle was tall and had her hood drawn over her head. I could see nothing of her face, but I could see her hands, which were human, , but where fingernails should have been on each finger, instead were long, black, curved claws that were razor sharp. I did not know how to feel about this, but I quickly came to the conclusion that as she was with the Oracle, she had to be good. I then turned my attention back to the Oracle as he started to speak.

"I know you are all surprised to see us here, but we had to come. For you see, what many of you do not know is, is that her heart is not the only thing that has been in pain. Her soul has, sadly, suffered also."

We all gasped at this news. I turned to Chris and Chrissie, who looked just as shocked and hurt as I did. Chrissie took a step forward and nervously asked him, "But, Oracle - sir - you are going to try and save her, aren't you?"

The Oracle gazed at Chrissie gently and said, "I would not be here if that wasn't the case, Chrissie."

Chrissie breathed a sigh of relief, but her relief vanished with the Oracle's next words, "However, that being said, it is your mother who you must worry about. Sian's predicament was caused by her actions, after all, so therefore, whatever Sian tells your mother will reflect on the punishment I shall give her."

Crighton looked up at the Oracle then, startled. "But, sir - " she tried to protest.

"Silence, Susan!" the Oracle yelled, with power behind his voice, power that made Chris, Chrissie, Sam, Ferdinand, Lincoln, Dena and I flinch as Crighton's knees quake as she bowed quickly before him. "Your daughter's words ... shall decide the course of your fate!"

I looked at Crighton, who remained with her head bowed, her eyes tightly closed in both pain and resignation. The Oracle then gave her one last, lingering look through his shrewd eyes, then turned to the hooded woman and asked her, "Do you have the supplies, Luba?"

"Yes, Oracle," said the woman called Luba, raising her head, and I saw her hood fall back, revealing the strangest face I have ever seen.

She looked like a sort of human-cat hybrid: her face, eyes, lips, hair and body were all human, but her nose was small, black-tipped and triangular, and she had whiskers, three long ones, sprouting just underneath her nose, and when she opened her mouth, I could see sharp white pointed teeth. She had large pointed ears, small grey eyes and her hair was grey, which fell in a straight sheet down her back, and just in case any of you are wondering, no, she does not have a tail.

As much as I tried, I could not stop staring at Luba. Chrissie, seeing my astonishment, said, "Don't worry, Kiara, Luba's nice. It takes time for you to get past her appearance, but once you do, she's easy to get along with. Saying that, though, she's not the strangest-looking being in the Oracle's Council. I couldn't believe it myself when I first saw it, you know."

"What, the beings on the Oracle's Council?"

"Well, that, but also all the magic that is out there among the stars. We're not the only magical beings out there among the stars, you know."

I looked at Chrissie, astonished, for I had not considered the prospect of magic running across the universe. I raised my head to the sky, which was still obscured by that white light, and I could not help but wonder, _"What is out there?"_ When I looked down from the sky, I noticed the Oracle scrutinising me. I looked at him nervously, not knowing what he was going to say. To my surprise, and immense relief, however, he nodded, smiled slightly and said, "I have heard a lot about you, Kiara Pride-Lander, oh yes. I have been looking forward to this meeting very much indeed." Then his expression became sombre again, as he turned back to Luba, who handed him a small sack, before turning back to Sian.

Out of the sack, he pulled out a few sprigs or petals of some herb or flower, chucking them over Sian's body, covering the body completely from head to toe, naming each and every one of them and explaining their purpose as he pulled them out of the sack.

"White sage, to ward off evil spirits ... Lavender, for protection ... Rosemary, to heal her heart and soul ... Thyme, to bring her peace of mind as her heard and soul heal themselves ... Hyssop herb, to cleanse her being, mind, heart and body ... Bittersweet, to heal her broken heart, and finally ..." the Oracle pulled out of the sack a jug of glittering bright blue water with flecks of red, green, yellow and purple in, which I had only seen used once, but I knew what it was before the Oracle explained, "the Healing Waters of Kandrakar, to complete the process."

Instead of pouring the water on a cloth, the Oracle walked beside Sian's body, covering her from head to toe in it. The water did not soak her clothes, but it did soak the sprigs of herbs and flower petals, and it also went right through her clothes, making her skin sparkle momentarily, before seeping under her skin, just as Crighton's tears had done only minutes ago, leaving Sian's skin completely dry (well, the skin that I could see, anyway).

Then, Sian's mouth opened slowly, and a small, glowing orb came out of it, which I figured to be Sian's soul, but something was wrong with it: there were parts of it that were black and cracking, and bits of Sian's soul that seemed to be flaking off. My heart broke for my friend, for I knew that she had been in pain, but I did not think that it was this bad. I looked at Crighton, who had started crying again at seeing the state of Sian's soul, and as much as I was angry with her for what she had put Sian through, I did feel sorry for her, for she should not have had to see her daughter suffer like she had. No parent should.

My attention was then drawn back to Sian, as the Kandrakarian Healing Water shot out of Sian's body, shredding the sprigs and petals of herbs and flowers and forcing them up to the soul. The water, herbs and petals hovered around it ... and then, one water droplet approached the soul cautiously, and eased into the fabric of it, almost caressing it, and as the water droplet vanished, the soul shone a little brighter: a little of the blackness was gone, some fragments were coming back, and the cracks had started to repair itself.

And that was all it took for the onslaught to begin: water, herb and petals flew to the soul, blending themselves seamlessly into it, until all that remained was a soul, pure, clean, whole and bright, unblemished, no longer black and dead-looking.

For a moment, Sian's soul glowed there in the air like a small sun, though it looked slightly dim, like it was almost whole but there was something different, before it exploded in a spectrum of colours and memories, moving so fast that it made me dizzy. I then heard music and a choir singing from above, growing louder with every word, and looking up I saw the bright white light wavering slightly as figures seemed to be moving behind it, who all must have been members of the Oracle's Council. I listened to what they were singing, and it was the same verse repeated over and over again, and it seemed to me like they were blessing Sian with music, their voices united as one, as though their harmonized voices were doing their part to heal Sian as well.

 _"Live, wake up, wake up,_

 _And let the Cloak of Life_

 _Cling to your bones, cling to your bones,_

 _Wake up, wake up."_

I looked back down and saw that Chrissie, Crighton, the Oracle, the man on the Oracle's right and Luba were singing with the Council, as Chris, Sam, Ferdinand, Dena and Lincoln looked on in amazement, as did I. I looked back at the soul, and I saw red and gold tears rise from within Sian's body, the tears that Crighton had shed not too long ago, and as they disappeared into the swirl of colours and memories, I caught whispered fragments of the words Crighton had said to Sian, and as the final tear disappeared, I heard the three most important words Crighton had said to her: _"I love you!"_

And then, the images and colours swirled together to make a girl, starting from when she was a baby, to a toddler, to childhood, to adolescence, and finally, we saw the beautiful woman Sian was today, whole and smiling and _happy_. She looked down at her body, then at the Oracle, silently asking him to help her. He nodded and held out his hand. Soul-Sian placed her hand on top of his (well, as close as she could get, anyway) and closed her eyes, as the Oracle spoke an incantation that I did not understand:

 _"Ha'as sha'ns zra!"_

And then Sian's soul swirled in another whirl of colour, becoming a small white orb again, glowing like a small sun, but this time there was no dimness about it, for Sian's soul was, finally, fully healed, pure and clean again, and as it headed towards her body, and as it entered the body, the Council ended on one last, reverberating note, which ended as the light from Sian's soul vanished entirely, but seemed to echo strongly in the silence.

We all looked at Sian, whose heart was beating a steady, normal rhythm still, yet her eyes remained tightly closed. As the seconds dragged, I began to think that maybe it hadn't worked, that something had gone -

Quite suddenly, Sian's eyes opened, and with a gasp she shot straight up. All of us jumped back in alarm, Chrissie stumbling over her own feet, but was steadied by Sam.

We all watched Sian closely as she shook her head, her gloved fingers in her hair, which she then took away and pulled in front of her. Then, taking a good look at her hand, she froze, her eyes widening in astonishment as she flexed her fingers slowly, turning her hand around, as though she could feel how natural and healthy her body was. She then drew her eyes and hands to the rest of her body, feeling her skin that was no longer stuck to her bones, and how her hair no longer looked lank and lifeless, but full of volume and was styled as I remembered it: straight but curled inwardly at the tips.

When Sian got to her legs, however, she stopped, a pensive, nervous look about her, and I knew why: the removal of movement in Sian's legs had taken away the last of her independence, and I knew that she did not like to be in that position, and that if she was still paralysed, it would hurt her greatly. But, as Sian tried to flex her toes for the first time in months, to her surprise and joy, and ours too, they responded willingly, not cracking from lack of use like I thought they would, but working just as normally as though the last few months had never happened.

Sian's look of apprehension turned to one of joy again, as she laughed a good, healthy, honest laugh that held no traces of sadness in it, as she patted her legs, feeling them properly for the first time in months. "I can walk again!" she said loudly in between giggles. "I can walk again!"

After feeling her legs properly, Sian then looked up and, seeing Chris, Chrissie and I there, she said genially, with a big smile on her face, "Well … I'm back!"

And that was all it took for Chris, Chrissie and I to embrace her all at once, which Sian did not mind; she laughed and put her arms around Chrissie and I, closing her eyes and smiling in contentment, and in that moment, it seemed to me that, in spite of everything that had happened at Malty Manor and with Dokey, that all was right with the world.

The four of us stayed like that for some time. It was only when Sian wanted to get up that Chris, Chrissie and I moved, Chris holding out a hand to help Sian to her feet, which she accepted. Then she proceeded to greet the others separately, starting with Sam, who embraced her, then Ferdinand, who hugged her too, then added, "It eez good to 'ave you back, Sian," then kissing her swiftly on each cheeks, which was something that made Chrissie pout, but did not seem to affect Sian. She then moved on to embrace Dena and Lincoln separately (and I should add here that, as Sian was using her legs properly for the first time in months, she was slightly unstable on them, looking more like Bambi when he was first learning to walk more than her usual self, but Chris was close by her to catch her just in case she stumbled or fell over), but when she turned to her mother, she stopped.

All the good, joyous feeling in the air seemed to have frozen in that moment as Sian looked at her mother: her smile faded, and her eyes became hard, cold and shrewd. Crighton, I saw, was watching Sian closely and nervously.

"Mother," Sian said curtly, a bitter edge to her voice that made Crighton flinch. Chrissie went up behind Sian and was about to say something to her, when Sian, sensing her sister's presence, put her hand up to stop her. Chrissie stopped in her tracks and did not move; it was only when Sian turned her head a little Chrissie's way that she bowed her head and stood next to Chris. Sian then lowered her hand, nodded and turned her attention back on to her mother.

"You know what, Mother," she began, "I've seen you make many mistakes and hurt a fair few people … but I never imagined for one moment that I would be one of them. I mean, you're supposed to be my mother, my protector, the one person who I can turn to whenever I'm upset and will comfort me without judgement. And yet, the moment I felt most alone, the most broken I've ever felt, the moment I really needed you, you turned your back on me - _me_ , of all people! Do you have any idea how much pain I was in? Not done," Sian snapped quickly, as Crighton was about to speak. She shut her mouth as Sian continued, "You hurt me, Ma! I trusted you, and you hurt me! What you did is possibly the most selfish thing you have ever done. I don't understand how you could do that to me, Ma, how you could hurt me that way …"

There was a pause. I looked at Crighton, who had tears falling down her cheeks. I knew it was hard for her to hear Sian's words, but a part of me felt glad that she was hearing them, for they had to be said. Don't get me wrong, I did feel sorry for Crighton, but she had brought this upon herself. I quickly turned my attention back to Sian, who had started speaking again, and I noticed that her voice seemed less harsh than it had done only seconds ago.

"However, I knew that you were only doing what you thought was best for me … and even though what you did was not the best way of showing that, the words that you spoke just now more than made up for your actions, for I felt as well as heard them, in my heart and soul. So I guess what I'm trying to say is …" Sian approached her mother slowly and carefully on shaky legs, who was watching her through tearful eyes, her expression turning more hopeful with every step Sian took. Then, stopping right in front of her mother, Sian shrugged and said, "I forgive you, Ma."

"Oh, my darling!" Crighton cried, enveloping her daughter and sobbing into her hair, as Sian laid her head on her mother's chest, closed her eyes and smiled contentedly. And then Sian said something that really made Crighton, and the rest of us, know that Sian had truly forgiven her.

"I love you, Ma."

As Crighton cried harder than ever, I let out a breath that I had not realised I had been holding until that moment, for after almost nine months, Sian had finally accepted her mother's death. Looking around, I saw that the others were wearing similar expressions of relief, too.

Mother and daughter were just content to hold each other, neither wanting to let the other go for as long as possible, but eventually they did. Looking past her mother, Sian could see the Oracle standing there, watching Sian and Crighton with a small smile on his lips. As soon as she saw him, Sian gasped, panicked, side-stepped around her mother and took a couple of shaky steps towards the Oracle.

"Oh, Oracle, sir, I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't see you there! I-I d-didn't mean to - oh, my apologies, sir - uh - Blessed Be!" Sian rambled quickly, putting her right fist over her heart and bowing slightly, raising her head in an awkwardly embarrassed way at the Oracle, who chuckled, smiling at her gently.

"That's all right, my child. Blessed Be. Rise," the Oracle said, returning the traditional Kandrakarian salute; Sian rose at once, looking sheepish, as her mother put her arm around her, chuckling slightly.

"Well, I must say, Sian, it is good to see you back to your old self again," the Oracle said, smiling fondly at her.

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad to be back."

The Oracle gave her a humble nod, then looked past her to me. "Kiara Pride-Lander?" he said sharply.

Everyone turned to me as I looked at him, startled. "Yes, Oracle, sir? Um - Blessed Be?" I said, repeating the gesture that both he and Sian had performed moments before, which elicited another chortle from him.

"It's all right, my dear. Rise and come forth next to Sian, if you please …"

I did as he asked, and as I approached him, I wondered why he wanted to speak to me for, but I was not ill at ease, for from the way he spoke, I was not in any trouble that I knew of, so that was something - at least …

"I have heard a lot about you, Kiara, and have also observed you with the Guardians, and though I may not have approved some of your methods on different occasions, I can honestly say that you are a perfect fit for the Dawson family, and I see just how well they have taken you in, even if it did take one of you a little longer to accept Kiara than the rest," the Oracle added, nodding at Sian, who smiled rather awkwardly. "You know, I do remember Susan saying to you girls separately that you would both do each other good, but neither of you believed it - "

Sian and I shared a quick smile at his words.

" - but now I think you both believe it, and Kiara, seeing how much you have helped Sian, not just over these past few months I might add, it seems fitting that I should give you this …"

The Oracle then reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a black necklace, which had the exact same pendant attached to the end of it that was engraved on the Oracle's head, only it was carved out of wood. He held it out to me and I took it from him, not knowing what to say.

"Thank you, sir," I said, "but what does this mean, exactly?"

"It means that you're a friend of Kandrakar, Kiara," said Sian.

"Not just that," said the Oracle. "This necklace also means that there is a possibility that you could one day be a member of my Council."

"Really?" I asked, amazed, as Sian and Chrissie gasped loudly.

The Oracle nodded. "I only hand these necklaces out to those who I think are most deserving of them, so wear it with pride and try not to lose it."

"I will, sir. Thank you," I said. I then placed the necklace around my neck.

The Oracle nodded, then his expression turned serious again. I knew that his next words were spoken to Chris, Sian, Chrissie, Sam, Ferdinand, Dena, Lincoln and I, for he said, "More challenges await you all still, for what happened here tonight is nothing compared to the battle that will end this war, one way or another …"

Those words made the eight of us look at each other apprehensively, and it was Chris who asked, "Will we all fight, sir?"

"That you will, Chris," said the Oracle. "You will face losses, which is to be expected, but just remember what you are fighting for and why, so that your friends and family will not die in vain."

"Do we have long to wait, Oracle?" Sian asked suddenly.

The air was thick with tension as the Oracle scrutinised Sian for several long moments, before he said, "Be prepared for the first day of the fifth month. That is all I shall say about it."

Sian nodded, looking unsettled by the Oracle's news, not that I could blame her. I think we all were shocked that we had less than two months until we were on the battlefield. It was a most unnerving thought …

The Oracle, as though sensing where our thoughts were headed, said calmly, "Try not to worry about it for now. In the meantime, you should be thinking about how you are going to bury your friend over there," he pointed to where Dokey's body was. "She deserves a nice place to rest, not to mention a small ceremony. She deserves nothing less."

As soon as the Oracle mentioned Dokey, I turned my gaze towards her small, lifeless body. I had forgotten all about Dokey since Sian collapsed, which is understandable, but as soon as he had mentioned her, the knowledge of her death came back to me; and as the Oracle's words sank in, I knew that he was right. I nodded in agreement with his words.

"And Susan, you don't think I've forgotten your punishment, do you?" the Oracle said quite sternly to Crighton.

"But, sir, I - "

"You may have gained your daughter's forgiveness, Susan," the Oracle snapped, "but you have a long way to go until you have earned mine."

Looking downward, Crighton nodded. Sian, however, took offence.

"Oracle, must you be so hard on her? Yes, she did wrong by turning her back on me, but - "

"I am sorry, Sian, but I did tell your mother that your words would be the cause of her fate," the Oracle told her, gentle yet firm. "And I believe that now is the time for me to pass judgement.

"Susan, you have indeed done wrong, but your actions tonight, along with Sian's words, have quite made up for it. So therefore, I am only taking away your Animal Spirit privileges for the time being. You are to remain only halls of Kandrakar and in your painting at Dragon Mort at all times, until further notice. Understood?"

"Yes, Oracle," said Crighton. Then, looking slightly more cheerful, she asked him, "So, I still get to keep my position on the Council, then?"

"Yes, but it is hanging by a very thin thread. Do not break it."

There was no mistaking the threat in the Oracle's tone, which Crighton understood, for she gulped nervously as she nodded.

When the Oracle turned to us and spoke, his voice and expression were kinder and calmer than before.

"Well, I believe that we have done all that we can here. Good luck to all of you and, until the next time we meet, Merry Meet, Merry Part, and Merry Meet again!" he finished, repeating the Kandrakarian salute.

"Merry Meet, Merry Part and Merry Meet again!" Chris, Sian, Chrissie, Sam, Ferdinand, Dena, Lincoln and I all repeated, along with the salute.

The Oracle smiled at us, then turned to Crighton. "You may say farewell to Sian and the others, Susan, but make it quick." Then, turning his back on us, he said, "Come, Tibur, Luba … we are done here …"

And standing in between the man called Tibur and Luba, the Oracle and two of his many Council members flew straight up into the bright white light. Once they were gone, Crighton turned to Sian.

"I'll be leaving you for a little while now, _magi_ , but remember - "

"I know, Ma," said Sian, "whether physically or spiritually, we will always have each other." And as if to prove it, Sian pulled out the phoenix pendant that she had so carefully hidden beneath her jumper.

Touched, Crighton touched it delicately, before hugging her daughter again. "I love you, _magi_."

"I love you too, Ma."

Crighton then kissed Sian on her temple, let go of her and turned to me. Looking me directly in the eye, she said, "Thank you, Kiara."

I did not need to ask what for, because I already knew, so I just nodded. Crighton then hugged and kissed Chris, Chrissie, Sam and Ferdinand, and nodded at Dena and Lincoln, before she too flew directly into the big white light in the sky, and once she had disappeared into it, the light closed up, leaving us all to adjust our eyes to the starry sky above us once more.


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: So, a couple of things I forgot to add last chapter: the two songs I used I know I do not own, so no flames there, please; also, what Crighton said to Sian is what I imagine would be what she wanted to say to Sian as her last goodbye to her but she didn't have the time, so please consider that when you go back to read it. But getting back to this chapter, though, this is the final chapter of the first part of book seven. Part two: war, will be coming out next week, so be ready for that. In the meantime, though, enjoy this chapter.**

 **Chapter 29**

 **The Wandmaker**

 **KIARA**

As soon as Crighton was gone, and knowing that Sian was all right at last, I ran back to where Dokey lay and knelt beside her, and just looking at her recalled to me the horror of her situation.

It was like sinking into an old nightmare; for an instant I knelt again beside Crighton's body at the foot of the tallest tower at Dragon Mort, but in reality I was staring at a tiny body curled upon the grass, pierced by Katalina's silver knife, which I pulled out of her and cast it aside, vaguely aware that Chris, Sian, Chrissie, Sam, Ferdinand, Dena and Lincoln had gathered around me, even as I pulled off my own jacket and covered Dokey in it like a blanket.

The sea was rushing against the shore somewhere nearby; I listened to it while the others talked, discussing matters in which I could take no interest, making decisions. Dena carried the injured Grimzhan into the house, Ferdinand hurrying with them; now Sam was making suggestions about burying the elf. I agreed without really knowing what I was saying. As I did so, I gazed down at the tiny body, and my scar prickled and burned, and in one part of my mind, viewed as if from the wrong end of a long telescope, I saw Zira punishing those we had left behind at Malty Manor. Her rage was dreadful and yet my grief for Dokey seemed to diminish it, so that it became a distant storm that reached me from across a vast, silent ocean.

"I want to do it properly," were the first words which I was fully conscious of saying. "Not by magic. Have you got a spade?"

And shortly afterwards I had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Sam had shown me at the end of the garden, between bushes. I dug with a kind of fury, relishing in the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved our lives.

My scar burned, but I was master of the pain; I felt it, yet was apart from it. I had learned control at last, learned to shut my mind from Zira, the very thing Crighton had wanted me to learn from Triphorm. Just as Zira had not been able to possess me while I was consumed with a kind of grief for Pumbaa, so her thoughts could not penetrate me now, while I mourned for Dokey. Grief, it seemed, drove Zira out … though Crighton, of course, would have said that it was love …

On I dug, deeper and deeper into the hard, cold earth, subsuming my grief in sweat, denying the pain in my scar. In the darkness, with nothing but the sound of my own breath and the rushing sea to keep me company, the things that had happened at the Maltys' returned to me, the things I had heard came back to me, and understanding blossomed in the darkness …

The steady rhythm of my arms beat time with my thoughts. The Hallows … the Hand … the Hallows … the Hand … yet I no longer burned with that weird, obsessive longing. Loss and fear had snuffed it out: I felt as though I had been slapped awake again.

Deeper and deeper I sank into the grave, and I knew where Zira had been tonight, and whom she had killed in the topmost cell of Mahali Kuhamisha, and why …

And I thought of Wormy and his wife, both dead by their own hands and one small, unconscious impulse of mercy … Crighton had foreseen that … how much more had she known?

I lost track of time. I knew only that the darkness had lightened a few degrees when I was rejoined by Chris and Dena.

As soon as I saw Chris, all I wanted to do was take him in my arms and kiss him senseless, not realising until now that I needed his touch, his warmth, his love. He seemed to know what I was thinking, and I think he felt it too, for he jumped into the grave, cupped his face in his hands and said, "I know how you feel, Kiara, but we must be patient, for this is neither the time nor the place to think such things, is it?"

And just like that, all rational thought came back to me. I nodded, knowing that he was right. He smiled, leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, his lips lingering a little longer than normal, and instead of pushing him away, I closed my eyes and relished the feeling of his lips on my skin, a warmth that seemed to touch me everywhere.

When his lips left my cheek, I felt cold somehow, like a fire had been extinguished. Ignoring this saddening thought, I looked at Dena, who was looking at her shoes. Not knowing what to say to her, and wanting to spare any awkwardness between us, I asked, "So, Dena, how's Sian doing?"

Dena looked up at me then, smiled gratefully and said, "She's fine. Chrissie's clinging to her like a puppy, though, which I think is starting to annoy Sian, but I'm not really sure."

Chris, Dena and I laughed. I had my retort ready when they asked me why I had not simply created a perfect grave with my wand, but I did not need it. They jumped down into the hole I had made with spades of their own, and together we worked in silence until the hole seemed deep enough.

I wrapped the elf more snugly in my jacket. Chris sat on the edge of the grave and stripped off his shoes and socks, which he placed upon the elf's bare feet, picking up Sian's beaded bag and placing it in his jacket pocket afterwards. Dena produced a woollen hat, which I placed carefully upon Dokey's head, muffling her bat-like ears.

"We should close her eyes."

I had not heard the others coming through the darkness. Sam was wearing a travelling cloak; Ferdinand was holding a bottle of what I recognised to be Skele-Gro. Sian was wrapped in a borrowed dressing-gown, looking down at her feet, mesmerised at the fact that she was walking again, Chrissie right beside her; Chris ran to them, hugging his sisters. Lincoln, who was huddled in one of Ferdinand's coats, crouched down and placed his fingers gently upon each of the elf's eyelids, sliding them over her glassy stare.

"There," he said softly. "Now she could be sleeping."

I placed the elf into the grave, arranged her tiny limbs so that she might have been resting, then climbed out and gazed for the last time upon the tiny body. I forced myself not to break down as I remembered Crighton's funeral, and the rows and rows of golden chairs, and the Minister for Magic in the front row, the recitation of Crighton's achievements, the stateliness of the white marble tomb. I felt that Dokey deserved just as grand a funeral, and yet here the elf lay between bushes in a roughly dug hole.

"I think we ought to say something," piped up Lincoln. "I'll go first, shall I?"

"Actually, Lincoln," said Sian suddenly, causing us all to look at her, "I'd like to say something, if I may?"

Lincoln blinked, surprised, but nodded and swapped places with Sian, who took a deep breath before speaking.

"Dokey, first of all I'd like to say how sorry I am that I took the attention off you just moments before with my very narrow escape from Death's clutches, but these things cannot be helped sometimes, so please forgive me for that. And secondly, words cannot express how grateful we all are to be here right now, for if it was your courage, your bravery, your compassion and your goodness that got us here. It is unfair that you had to die the way you did, but you did not die in vain, for we wouldn't be here otherwise. Nonetheless, your good heart was taken too soon from us, from which your innocence, which I believe is a rare form of beauty that is seldom seen any more in this maddening, ever changing world of ours that should be acknowledged, shone through."

We were all rendered gobsmacked by Sian's outlook and wisdom, all except Lincoln, who nodded pensively. Chrissie was the first to break the silence.

"You know, I'd never actually thought of it that way before."

"That, sister, is because I have a way with words, which you have never had but can only dream of," Sian retaliated.

"Well, it didn't take her too long to come back, did it?" said Chrissie snidely; Sian shot her sister an annoyed look over her shoulder before turning her attention back on the elf.

"Dokey, the heavens are shining down on you tonight, and I believe that a new star had joined them: yours, which will shine brightly for years to come, and the first brightest star I see whenever I look up at the sky from now on, Dokey, I will always think of as your star. And wherever you are now, Dokey, I hope that you have found peace, and that you are surrounded by happiness, love, memories of friends and a whole load of socks."

We all laughed at that, but Chris, Chrissie and I laughed the hardest, knowing how much Dokey loved socks, and I was surprised by how good and right it felt to laugh, and in doing so I realised that Dokey would not have wanted pity, but for us to celebrate her life.

Sian then turned to Chrissie and looked at her expectantly; Chrissie's giggles eased slightly and she said, "Thanks, Dokey."

"Thank you, Dokey," said Chris.

"Thanks," muttered Dena.

"Goodbye, Dokey," said Lincoln softly. Then, turning to Sian, he added, "That was beautiful, Sian."

"Thanks, Lincoln." She then turned to me.

I swallowed.

"Bye, Dokey," I said. It was all I could manage, but Sian had said it all for me. Sam raised her wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rose up into the air and fell neatly upon it, a small, reddish mound.

"D'you mind if I stay here a moment?" I asked the others.

They murmured words I did not catch; I felt gentle pats upon my back, and then they all traipsed back towards the cottage, all except Sian, who stood by my side at the elf's grave, and Chris, who was sticking close to her.

Before I could ask her what she was doing, Sian had taken off her leather gloves and placed them in a pocket of her dressing-gown. She then looked around her and picked up broken twigs, leaves and some loose flower petals and gave them to me to hold. I watched her silently, wondering what she was doing; every now and again she would stop, look at the collection in my arms, ponder for a few moments, then shake her head and continue collecting.

Eventually, she seemed to have everything she needed, for she stood in front of me, nodded and raised her arms. I watched in amazement and awe as the different bits of the earth came together to create a sort of wreath, which looked odd with all the different colours and materials, yet looked strangely beautiful at the same time. Sian then placed the wreath delicately in the middle of the grave, smiled at me and walked back to the cottage, Chris right by her side, close enough to catch her if she fell but not as close as to get into her personal space.

I stood there, admiring Sian's handiwork for a few moments, then looked around: there were a number of large white stones, smoothed by the sea, marking the edge of the flowerbeds. I picked up one of the largest and laid it, pillow-like, over the place where Dokey's head now rested. I then felt in my pocket for a wand.

There were two in there. I had forgotten, lost track; I could not now remember whose wands these were; I seemed to remember wrenching them out of someone's hand. I selected the shorter of the two, which felt friendlier in my hand, and pointed it at the rock.

Slowly, under my murmured instruction, deep cuts appeared on the rock's surface. I knew that Sian could have done it more neatly, and probably more quickly, but I wanted to mark the spot as I had wanted to dig the grave. When I stood up, the stone read:

 _Here Lies Dokey, a Free Elf._

I looked down at my handiwork for a few more seconds, then walked away, my scar still prickling a little and my mind full of those things that had come to me in the grave, ideas that had taken shape in the darkness, ideas both fascinating and terrible.

They were all sitting in the living room when I entered the little hall, their attention focused upon Sam, who was talking. The room was light-coloured, pretty, with a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace. I did not want to drop mud upon the carpet, so I stood in the doorway, listening.

" … lucky that Kestrel and the others are on holiday. If they'd have been at Dragon Mort, the Love Destroyers could have taken them before we reached them. Now we know they're safe, too."

She looked round and saw me standing there.

"I've been getting them all out of Dawson Manor," she explained. "Moved them to Great-Aunt Lizzie's. The Love Destroyers know Chrissie's with you now, they're bound to target the family - don't apologise," she added, at the sight of my expression. "It was always a matter of time, Uncle Matt's been saying so for months. We're one of the biggest blood traitor families around."

"How are they protected?" I asked.

"Fidelius Charm. Uncle Matt's Secret Keeper. And we've done it on the cottage too. I'm Secret Keeper here. None of us can go to work, but that's hardly the most important thing now. Once Wandwick and Grimzhan are well enough, we'll move them to Great-Aunt Lizzie's too. There isn't much room here, but she's got plenty. Grimzhan's legs are on the mend, Ferdinand's given her Skele-Gro: we could probably move them in an hour or - "

"No," I said, and Sam looked startled. "I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It's important."

I heard the authority in my own voice, the conviction, the sense of purpose that had come to me as I dug Dokey's grave. All of their faces were turned towards me, looking puzzled.

"I'm going to wash," I told Sam, looking down at my hands, still covered in mud and Dokey's blood. "Then I'll need to see them, straightaway."

I walked into the little kitchen, to the basin beneath a window overlooking the sea. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, shell pink and faintly gold, as I washed, again following the train of thought that had come to me in the dark garden …

Dokey would never be able to tell me who had sent her to the cellar, but I knew what I had seen. A piercing green eye had looked out of the mirror fragment, and then help had come. _Help will always be given at Dragon Mort to those who ask for it_ _._

I dried my hands, impervious to the beauty of the scene outside the window and to the murmuring of the others in the sitting room. I looked out over the ocean and felt closer, this dawn, than ever before, closer to the heart of it all.

And still my scar prickled, and I knew that Zira was getting there too. I understood, and yet did not understand. My instinct was telling me one thing, my mind quite another. The Crighton in my head smiled, surveying me over the tips of her fingers, pressed together as if in prayer.

 _You gave Chrissie the Deluminator. You understood her … you gave her a way back …_

 _And you understood Wormy too … you knew there was a bit of regret there, somewhere …_

 _And if you knew them … what did you know about me, Crighton?_

 _Am I meant to know, but not to seek? Did toy know how hard I'd find it? Is that why you made it this difficult? So I'd have time to work that out?_

I stood quite still, my eyes glazed, watching the place where a bright gold rim of dazzling sun was rising over the horizon. Then I looked down at my clean hands, and was momentarily surprised to see the cloth I was holding in them. I set it down and returned to the hall, and as I did so, I felt my scar pulse angrily, and there flashed across my mind, swift as the reflection of a dragonfly over water, the outline of a building I knew extremely well.

Sam and Ferdinand were standing at the foot of the stairs.

"I need to speak to Grimzhan and Wandwick," I said.

"No," said Ferdinand. "You will 'ave to wait, Kiara. Zey are both ill, tired - "

"I'm sorry," I said, without heat, "but it can't wait. I need to talk to them now. Privately - and separately. It's urgent."

"Kiara, what the hell's going on?" asked Sam. "You turn up here with a dead elf and a half-conscious faun, Sian - well, I don't exactly know what happened to her, but from what I saw last night I can just figure it out, and she, Chris and Chrissie have just refused to tell me anything - "

"We can't tell you what we're doing," I said flatly. "You're in the Order, Sam, you know Crighton left us a mission. We're not supposed to talk about it to anyone else."

Ferdinand made an impatient noise, but Sam did not look at him; she was staring at me. Her deeply scarred face was hard to read. Finally, Sam said, "All right. Who do you want to talk to first?"

I hesitated. I knew what hung on my decision. There was hardly any time left: now was the moment to decide: the Horcruxes or the Hand?

"Grimzhan," I said. "I'll speak to Grimzhan first."

My heart was racing, as if I had been sprinting and had just cleared an enormous obstacle.

"Up here, then," said Sam, leading the way.

I had walked up several steps before looking back.

"I need you three, as well!" I called to Chris, Sian and Chrissie, who had been skulking, half-concealed, in the doorway of the sitting room.

They both moved into the light, looking oddly relieved.

"How are you?" I asked Sian. "You were amazing - coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that - "

"Yeah, well, it wouldn't be the first time I've had to make stuff up on the spot to get myself or others out of trouble," said Sian; Chris and Chrissie laughed slightly. I smiled at her.

"What are we doing now, Kiara?" Chris asked.

"You'll see. Come on."

Chris, Sian, Chrissie and I followed Sam up the steep stairs, on to a long landing. Five doors led off it.

"In here," said Sam, opening the door to what I would later discover to be her and Ferdinand's room. It, too, had a view of the sea, now flecked with gold in the sunrise. I moved to the window, turned my back on the spectacular view and waited, my arm folded, my scar prickling. After a small discussion, Sian let Chrissie take the chair beside the dressing table; Chris sat on the arm and Sian stood by the door, her arms crossed; I think she wanted to get used to using her legs again.

Sam reappeared, carrying the tall faun, whom she set down carefully upon the bed. Grimzhan grunted thanks and Sam left, closing the door upon us all.

"I'm sorry to take you out of bed," I said. "How are your legs?"

"Painful," replied the faun. "But mending."

She was still clutching the sword of Lion-Heart, and wore a strange look; half-truculent, half-intrigued. I noticed the faun's sallow skin, her long, thing, fingers, her blue eyes, her long, stubby legs, which, even though they had hooves at the end, looked a strange combination of moss and bark, which were rather dirty. She was very tall. She had a vest made of animal skins covering her chest. Her long red hair fanned out down her back, and on top of her head, two large, black curved horns poked out on either side of it, glinting dully in the sunlight.

"You probably don't remember - " I began.

" - that I was the faun who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Fauntrotts?" said Grimzhan. "I remember, Kiara Pride-Lander. Even amongst fauns, you are very famous."

The faun and I looked at each other, sizing each other up. My scar was still prickling. I wanted to get through this interview with Grimzhan quickly, and at the same time was afraid of making a false move. While I tried to decide on the best way to approach my request, the faun broke the silence.

"You buried the elf," she said, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. "I watched you, from the window of the bedroom next door."

"Yes," I said.

Grimzhan looked at me out of the corners of her slanting blue eyes.

"You are an unusual witch, Kiara Pride-Lander."

"In what way?" I said, rubbing my scar absently.

"You dug the grave?"

"So?"

Grimzhan did not answer. I rather thought I was being sneered at for acting like a Muggle, but it did not matter to me whether Grimzhan approved of Dokey's grave or not. I gathered myself for the attack.

"Grimzhan, I need to ask - "

"You also rescued a faun."

"What?"

"You brought me here. Saved me."

"Well, I take it you're not sorry?" I said, a little impatiently.

"No, Kiara Pride-Lander," said Grimzhan, and with one finger she twisted the thin, red beard upon her chin, "but you are a very odd witch."

"Right," I said. "Well, I need some help, Grimzhan, and you can give it to me."

The faun made no sign of encouragement, but continued to frown at me as though she had never seen anything like me.

"I need to break into a Fauntrotts vault."

I had not meant to say it so baldly; the words were forced from me as pain shot through my scar and I saw, again, the outline of Dragon Mort. I closed my mind firmly. I needed to deal with Grimzhan first. Chris, Sian and Chrissie were staring at me as though I had gone mad.

"Kiara - " said Sian, but she was cut-off by Grimzhan.

"Break into a Fauntrotts vault?" repeated the faun, wincing a little as she shifted her position upon the bed. "It is impossible."

"No, it isn't," Chrissie contradicted her. "It's been done."

"Yeah," I said. "The same day I first met you, Grimzhan. My birthday, seven years ago."

"The vault in question was empty at the time," snapped the faun, and I understood that even though Grimzhan had left Fauntrotts, she was offended at the idea of its defences being breached. "Its protection was minimal!"

"Well, the vault we need to get into isn't empty, and I'm guessing its protection will be pretty powerful," I said. "It belongs to the Outsiders."

I saw Chris, Sian and Chrissie all exchanging looks of astonishment, but there would be time enough to explain after Grimzhan had given her answer.

"You have no chance," said Grimzhan flatly. "No chance at all. You would be mad to even consider such an act, never mind going through with it."

"I know," I said. "But I'm not trying to get myself any treasure, I'm not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?"

The faun looked slantwise at me, and the flame scar on my forehead prickled, but I ignored it, refusing to acknowledge its pain or its invitation.

"If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain," said Grimzhan flatly, "it would be you, Kiara Pride-Lander. Goblins, fauns and elves are not used to the protection, or the respect, that you have shown this night. Not from wand-carriers."

"Wand-carriers," I repeated: the phrase fell oddly upon my ears as my scar prickled, as Zira turned her thoughts northwards, and as I burned to question Wandwick, next door.

"The right to carry a wand," said the faun quietly, "has long been contested between wizards, goblins and fauns."

"Well, fauns can do magic without wands," said Chrissie.

"That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!"

"Well, fauns won't share any of their magic, either," said Chrissie. "You won't tell us how to make swords and armour the way you do. Fauns know how to work metal in a way wizards have never - "

"It doesn't matter," I said, noting Grimzhan's rising colour. "This isn't about wizards versus Fauns or any other sort of magical creature - "

Grimzhan gave a nasty laugh.

"But it is, it is about precisely that! As the Scarlet Lady becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Fauntrotts falls under wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst wand-carriers protests?"

"We do!" said Sian. She was standing straight now, her eyes bright. "We protest! And I'm hunted quite as much as any elf, faun or goblin, Grimzhan! I'm a Sackbrain!"

"Don't call yourself - "

"You shouldn't belittle - "

"Why shouldn't I?" said Sian. "Sackbrain, and proud of it! I've got no higher position under this new order than you have, Grimzhan! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Maltys'! You heard my screams, heard how close I was to death!

"Did you know that it was Kiara who set Dokey free?" she asked. "Did you know that we, as well as other good wizards out there, have wanted elves to be freed for years?" (Chrissie fidgeted uncomfortably in the chair.) "You can't want She-You-Know defeated more than we do, Grimzhan!"

The faun gazed at Sian with the same curiosity she had shown me.

"What do you seek within the Outsiders' vault?" she asked abruptly. "The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one." She looked from one to the other of us. "I think that you already know this. You aske me to lie for you back there."

"But the fake sword isn't the only thing in that vault, is it?" I asked. "Perhaps you've seen other things in there?"

My heart was pounding harder than ever: I redoubled my efforts to ignore the pulsing of my scar.

The faun twirled her beard around her finger again.

"It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Fauntrotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers."

The faun stroked the sword, and her blue eyes roved from myself, to Chrissie, to Chris, to Sian and then back again.

"So young," she said finally, "to be fighting so many."

"Will you help us?" I said. "We haven't got a hope of breaking in without a faun's help. You're our one chance."

"I shall … think about it," said Grimzhan maddeningly.

"But - " Chrissie started angrily; Sian shot her a warning look.

"Thank you," I said.

The faun bowed her great head in acknowledgement, then flexed her long legs.

"I think," she said, settling herself ostentatiously upon Sam and Ferdinand's bed, "that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me …"

"Yeah, of course," I said, but before leaving the room I leaned forwards and took the sword of Lion-Heart from beside the faun. Grimzhan did not protest, but I thought I saw resentment in the faun's eyes as I closed the door upon her.

"Little cow," whispered Chrissie. "She's enjoying keeping us hanging."

"Kiara," whispered Sian, leading the three of us away from the door, into the middle of the still dark landing, "are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you saying there's a Horcrux in the Outsiders' vault?"

"Yes," I said. "Katalina was terrified when she thought we'd been in there, she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we'd seen, what else did she think we might have taken? Something she was petrified She-You-Know would find out about."

"But I thought we were looking for places She-You-Know's been, places she's done something important?" said Chris, both he and Chrissie looking baffled. "Was she ever inside the Outsiders' vault?"

"I don't know whether she ever went inside either Gringotts or Fauntrotts," I said. "She never had gold when she was younger, because nobody left her anything. She would have seen both banks from the outside, though the first time she ever went to both Diagon and Brickabon Alley."

My scar throbbed, but I ignored it; I wanted Chris, Sian and Chrissie to understand about Fauntrotts before we spoke to Wandwick.

"I think she would have envied anyone who had a key to a Fauntrotts vault. I think she'd have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the wizarding world. And don't forget, she trusted Katalina and her husband. They were her most devoted servants before she fell, and they went looking for her after she vanished. She said it the night she came back, I heard her."

I rubbed my scar.

"I don't think she'd have told Katalina it was a Horcrux, though. She never told Narissa Malty the truth about the diary. She probably told her it was a treasured possession and asked her to place it in her vault. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Grandmother Sarabi told me … except for Dragon Mort."

When I had finished speaking, Chrissie shook her head.

"You really understand her."

"Bits of her," I said. "Bits … I just wish I'd understood Crighton as much. But we'll see. Come on - Wandwick now."

Chris, Sian and Chrissie looked bewildered, but impressed, as they followed me across the little landing and knocked upon the door opposite Sam and Ferdinand's. A weak "Come in!" answered us.

The wandmaker was lying on the twin bed furthest from the window. She had been in the cellar for more than a year, and tortured, I knew, on at least one occasion. She was emaciated, the bones of her face sticking out sharply against the yellowish skin. He great, silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets. The hands that lay upon the blanket could have belonged to a skeleton. I sat down on the empty bed, in between Chris and Chrissie, and Sian sat next to her. The rising sun was not visible here. The room faced the hill-top garden and the freshly dug grave.

"Madam Wandwick, I'm sorry to disturb you," I said.

"My dear girl." Wandwick's voice was feeble. "You rescued us. I thought we would die in that place. I can never thank you … _never_ thank you … enough."

"We were glad to do it."

My scar throbbed. I knew, I was certain, that there was hardly any time left in which to beat Zira to her goal, or else attempt to thwart her. I felt a flutter of panic … yet I had made my decision when I chose to speak to Grimzhan first. Feigning a calm I did not feel, I groped in the pouch around my neck and took out the two halves of my broken wand.

"Madam Wandwick, I need some help."

"Anything. Anything," said the wandmaker feebly.

"Can you mend this? Is it possible?"

Wandwick held out a trembling hand and I placed the two barely connected halves into her palm.

"Holly and phoenix feather," said Wandwick in a tremulous voice. "Eleven inches. Nice and supple."

"Yes," I said. "Can you - ?"

"No," whispered Wandwick. "I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of."

I had been braced to hear it, but it was a blow nevertheless. I took the wand halves back and replaced them in the pouch around my neck. Wandwick stared at the place where the shattered wand had vanished, and did not look away until I had taken from my pocket the two wands I had brought from the Maltys'.

"Can you identify these?" I asked.

The wandmaker took the first of the wands and held it close to her faded eyes, rolling it between her knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly.

"Walnut and dragon heartstring," she said. "Twelve and three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Katalina Outsider."

"And this one?"

Wandwick performed the same examination.

"Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Danielle Malty."

"Was?" I repeated. "Isn't it still hers?"

"Perhaps not. If you took it - "

" - I did - "

" - then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change."

There was silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.

"You talk about wands like they've got feelings," I said, "like they can think for themselves."

"The wand chooses the wizard," said Wandwick. "That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore."

"A person can still use a wand that hasn't chosen them, though?" I asked.

"Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connexions are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand."

The sea gushed forwards and backwards; it was a mournful sound.

"I took this wand from Dani Malty by force," I said. "Can I use it safely?"

"I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master."

"So should Chrissie and I use these ones?" said Chris, he and Chrissie pulling the Abster's wands out of their pockets and handing them to Wandwick.

"Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine and a quarter inches. Brittle," said Wandwick, examining Wormy's wand. Then she turned to Alice's. "Red oak and unicorn hair. Ten and a half inches. Unyielding. I was forced to make these, shortly after my kidnap, for Alan and Alice Abster. Yes, if you won these from them, they are more likely to do your bidding, and do it well, than other wands."

"And this holds true for all wands, does it?" I asked.

"I think so," replied Wandwick, her protuberant eyes upon my face. "You ask deep questions, Miss Pride-Lander. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic."

"So, it isn't necessary to kill the previous owner to take true possession of a wand?" I asked.

Wandwick swallowed.

"Necessary? No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill."

"There are legends, though," I said, and as my heart rate quickened, the pain in my scar became more intense; I was sure that Zira had decided to put her idea into action. "Legends about a wand - or wands - that have passed from hand to hand by murder."

Wandwick turned pale. Against the snowy pillow she was light grey, and her eyes were enormous, bloodshot and bulging with what looked like fear.

"Only one wand, I think" she whispered.

"And She-You-Know is interested in it, isn't she?" I asked.

"I - how?" croaked Wandwick, and she looked appealingly at Chris, Sian and Chrissie for help. "How do you know this?"

"She wanted you to tell her how to overcome the connection between our wands," I said.

Wandwick looked terrified.

"She tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I - I had no choice but to tell her what I knew, what I guessed!"

"I understand," I said. "You told her about the twin cores? You said she just had to borrow another wizard's wand?"

Wandwick looked horrified, transfixed, by the amount that I knew. She nodded slowly.

"But it didn't work," I went on. "Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?"

Wandwick shook her head as slowly as she had just nodded.

"I had … never heard of such a thing. Your wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why your wand should have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know …"

"We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder. When She-You-Know realised my wand had done something strange, she came back and asked about the other wand, didn't she?"

"How do you know this?"

I did not answer.

"Yes, she asked," whispered Wandwick. "She wanted to know everything I could tell her about the wand variously known as the Deathtwig, the Elder Wand, or, in some cases, the Stick of Fear."

I glanced sideways at Sian. She looked flabbergasted.

"The Scarlet Lady," said Wandwick, in hushed and frightened tones, "has always been happy with the wand she took from the first person who had it - yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches - until she discovered the connection of the twin cores. Now she seeks another, more powerful, wand, as the only way to conquer yours."

"But she'll know soon, if she doesn't already, that mine's broken beyond repair," I said quietly.

"No!" said Chris, sounding frightened. "She can't know that, Kiara, how could she - ?"

"Because as we were leaving the Maltys', I dropped the blackthorn wand," I said. "She-You-Know'll take one look at it after questioning the others, and will quickly think that something must have happened to mine for me to have used that wand."

Chris, Sian and Chrissie all looked worried, not that I could blame them. We were all silent for a few moments, when Wandwick decided to break it.

"The Scarlet Lady no longer seeks the Stick of Fear for your destruction, Miss Pride-Lander. She is determined to possess it, because she believes it will make her truly invulnerable."

"And will it?"

"The owner of the Stick of Fear must always fear attack," said Wandwick, "but the idea of the Scarlet Lady in possession of the Deathtwig is, I must admit … formidable."

I was suddenly reminded of how I had been unsure, when we had first met, of how much I liked Wandwick. Even now, having been tortured and imprisoned by Zira, the idea of the Dark witch in possession of this wand seemed to enthral her as much as it repulsed her.

"You - you really think this wand exists, then, Madam Wandwick?" asked Sian.

"Oh yes," said Wandwick. "Yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand's course through history. There are gaps, of course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but always it resurfaces. It has certain identifying characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognise. There are written accounts, some of them obscure, that I and other wandmakers have made it our business to study. They have the ring of authenticity."

"So you - you don't think it can be a fairy tale, or a myth?" Sian asked hopefully.

"No," said Wandwick. "Whether it _needs_ to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands."

"Madam Wandwick," I said, "you told She-You-Know that Femwazz had the Stick of Fear, didn't you?"

Wandwick turned, if possible, even paler. She looked ghostly as she gulped.

"But how - how do you - ?"

"Never mind how I know it," I said, closing my eyes momentarily as my scar burned and I saw, for mere seconds, a vision of the main street in Dragsmeade, still dark, because it was so much further north. "You told She-You-Know that Hori had the wand?"

"It was a rumour," whispered Wandwick. "A rumour, years and years ago, long before you were born! I believe Hori herself started it. You can see how good it would be for business: that she was studying, and duplicating, the qualities of the Stick of Fear!"

"Yes, I can see that," I said. I stood up. "Madam Wandwick, one last thing, and then we'll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hand of Holiness?"

"The - the what?" asked the wandmaker, looking utterly bewildered.

"The Deathly Hand of Holiness."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?"

I looked into the sunken face and believed that Wandwick was not acting. She did not know about the Hand.

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you very much. We'll leave you to get some rest now."

Wandwick looked stricken.

"She was torturing me!" she gasped. "The Cruciatus Curse … you have no idea …"

"I do," I said. "I really do. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this."

I led Chris, Sian and Chrissie down the staircase, Chris, once again, standing as close to Sian as possible just in case she fell. I caught a glimpse of Sam, Ferdinand, Lincoln and Dena sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They all looked up at me as I appeared in the doorway, but I merely nodded to them, and continued into the garden, Chris, Sian and Chrissie behind me. The reddish mound of earth that covered Dokey lay ahead, and I walked back to it, as the pain in my head built more and more powerfully. It was a huge effort, now, to close down the visions that were forcing themselves upon me, but I knew that I would have to resist only a little longer. I would yield very soon, because I needed to know that my theory was right. I must make only one more, short effort, so that I could explain to Chris, Sian and Chrissie.

"Hori had the Stick of Fear, a long time ago," I said. "I saw She-You-Know trying to find her. When she tracked her down, she found that Hori didn't have it any more: it was stolen from her by Femwazz. How Femwazz found out that Hori had it, I don't know - but if Hori was stupid enough to spread the rumour, it can't have been that difficult."

Zira was at the gates of Dragon Mort; I could see her standing there, and see, too, the lamp bobbing in the pre-dawn, coming closer and closer.

"And Femwazz used the Stick of Fear to become powerful. And at the height of her power, when Crighton knew she was the only one who could stop her, she duelled Femwazz, and beat her, and she took the Stick of Fear."

" _Ma_ had the Stick of Fear?" said Chrissie. "But then - where is it now?"

"At Dragon Mort," I said, fighting to remain with them in the hill-top garden.

"But then, let's go!" said Chrissie urgently. "Kiara, let's go and get it, before she does!"

"It's too late for that," I said. I could not help myself, but I clutched my head, trying to resist. "She knows where it is. She's there now."

"Kiara!" Chrissie said, furiously. "How long have you known this - why have we been wasting time? Why did you talk to Grimzhan first? We could have gone - we could still go - "

"No," I said, and I sank to my knees in the grass. "Sian's right. Crighton didn't want me to have it. She didn't want me to take it. She wanted me to get the Horcruxes."

"The unbeatable wand, Kiara!" moaned Chrissie.

"I'm not supposed to … I'm supposed to get the Horcruxes …"

And now everything was cool and dark: the sun was barely visible over the horizon as she glided alongside Triphorm, up through the grounds towards the river.

"I shall join you in the castle shortly," she said, in her high, cold voice. "Leave me now."

Triphorm bowed her head curtly and set off back up the path, her red cloak billowing behind her. She walked slowly, waiting for Triphorm's figure to disappear. It would not do for Triphorm, or indeed anyone else, to see where she was going. But there were no lights in the castle windows, and she could conceal herself … and in a second she had cast upon herself a Disillusionment Charm that hid her even from her own eyes.

And she walked on, around the edge of the river, taking in the outlines of the beloved castle, her first kingdom, her birthright …

And here it was, beside the river, reflected in the dark waters. The white marble tomb, an unnecessary blot on the familiar landscape. She felt again that rush of controlled euphoria, that heady sense of purpose in destruction. She raised the old yew wand: how fitting that this would be its last great act.

The tomb split open from head to foot. The shrouded figure was as long and thin as it had been in life. She raised the wand again. The wrappings fell open. The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved. She looked down upon the body, studying it carefully, looking for where the wand was, when she suddenly spotted it: there, where Crighton's hands were folded upon her chest, and there it lay, clutched beneath them and between the many flowers her foolish family had given her, buried with her.

Had the old fool imagined that marble or death would protect the wand? Had she thought that the Scarlet Lady would be scared to violate her tomb? The spider-like hand swooped and pulled the wand from Crighton's grasp, and as she took it, a shower of sparks flew from its tip, sparkling over the corpse of its last owner, ready to serve a new mistress at last.


End file.
